


Hiding Space

by posingasme



Series: Before 200... [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, M/M, Nightmares, Vessel Consent Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next installment of the Before 200 Series, which diverges from canon after episode 199, and Sam and Dean never get to see an amazing musical. </p><p>Sam just wants a simple, uncomplicated hunt. Instead, he gets entirely too close to the thoughts and emotions of his tormented brother and his angel lover. The worst of it is that each of the three of them sees the world entirely differently. Sam is struggling to not lose himself as he learns to balance the strange and dark minds of his loved ones while harboring his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it getting hot in here, or is it just Sam?

_Cas didn't make it._

Sam had accepted his brother's death, and Castiel's. Kevin and Meg were surely gone. Kevin had haunted his nightmares, Meg had whispered in his head for a while, but after a few weeks, all he heard was Dean's voice, all he saw was Castiel's blue stare. But he had seen them when they iced Roman; they were atomized by that horrible wave of power. Every other time, with Dean, there had been a body. This time, there was nothing.

But there had never been a body with Castiel. He had never had to say goodbye to him. It was so sudden with Castiel. The snap of Lucifer...okay, the snap of Sam's own fingers...that had been the one time he had to watch Castiel die, and there was nothing left. Nothing.

And now there was nothing again.

The two remaining family members were just gone. Dean would never understand how Sam had felt when Crowley had taunted that Sam was truly alone. Something in Sam had broken, and there would never be a fix for that. No, he had not looked for Dean exactly. But he had seen him everywhere. It was why he had to stop hunting. He had tried, but there was no one there to rely on, no one to rely on him. And without Dean counting on him, it became easier and easier to tell himself no one was counting on him. Not Kevin. Not random civilians. No one. Sam was well and truly alone. He buried the cellphones under the floorboards at the cabin and wandered over the earth like one of the lost ghosts he had always put to rest. There would be no rest for Sam. Not when he had no one to know he was lost, no one to care.

Then he hit a dog. The universe's biggest prank had been Amelia's husband resurfacing. He had expected anything but that. But even if he hadn't, Sam knew in his heart he would have left. Dean was back, and Dean was his family.

And then Dean had told him. _Cas didn't make it._ Sam had pushed for more, had wanted more, but it was all Dean could give him, and he let it go. When his brother didn't want to talk about something, there wasn't much point in trying to make him talk. And Dean did not want to talk about losing Castiel.

In hindsight, Sam wondered if a little bit of why Dean felt guilty about losing their angel was because he knew, even if Sam refused to acknowledge it himself, that his little brother loved Castiel. Dean had not been surprised when faced with the prospect of his angel buddy and his kid brother linking up. In fact, of the three of them, Dean was the only one who had not been surprised.

There were words that would always feature in his nightmares. _You always wanted to be normal, Sam! If you are, you'll be dead within a week!_ and _It had to be a mess, Sam, or you wouldn't believe it's your life_ were two that, along with that archangel's horrible cackle, kept him waking up in sweat years later. For some reason, Crowley shrieking about deserving to be loved made his skin crawl like nothing else. _My daddy shot your daddy in the head_ made his chest seize whenever he thought of Meg or Jo. There were two voices that told him if he walked out that door, he better never come back. And of course, _Cas didn't make it._

It had been too final for an angel whose specialty was breaking all rules. "I saw enough," Dean had answered when he had asked for clarification. That wasn't good enough for Sam, but he had let it go. Dean was crushed, with hurt and guilt, and Sam was not going to make it worse by forcing him.

Now, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since then, probably because a lifetime for Sam Winchester was so short and stuttered. He had, after all, essentially died since then. So had Dean, and nearly Castiel too.

He turned to find his angel sitting in the chair beside the bed, reading in the dark. Sam smiled. He could only tell Castiel was reading because the swish of the pages was there every few moments. It was probably the ancient Russian text they had uncovered in the library a few days before.

"Cas," he whispered.

The angel startled a bit. "Sam, I thought you slept."

"I was. I..."

In the dark came a cool hand against his sweaty forehead. "A nightmare," he said softly, as if he disapproved.

"That thing with the djinn reaper and his buddy must have knocked some crap loose in my head. It's okay. I'm glad you're here,” he added after a beat of silence.

"Hannah let me know that they discovered another banshee like the one we encountered, discontent with its lot in life and causing suffering instead of simply seeking it. They have removed it."

"Good. Thank her for us."

"What did you dream about?"

Sam sighed. Ever since the sadistic banshee had imbued Castiel with Sam's own painful memories and nightmares, the angel had been obsessive about knowing what was going on in Sam's mind. "I was back a few years talking to Dean about Purgatory. About how you didn't make it. Then I was in Purgatory with Bobby and Benny, but we were looking for you, and I kept hearing Dean say you didn't make it. Cas? I can't even count how many times I've had to consider you might be dead."

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to be careful!" He reached for Castiel's hand and held it to his cheek for a moment. He could see his lover's eyes flash blue with pleasure. It was amazing being able to see when Castiel's Grace manifested due to emotion. It was as incredible as watching his wings flutter with excitement or span out in a stroke of temper.

"I have far more reason to be careful than I ever had before," he promised, closing his other hand over Sam's large one. "Sleep now, Sam. Your brother wants to head out in the early morning."

"I know." He sighed again, and felt it stretch into a yawn. "I'd sleep faster if you joined me."

Castiel hesitated. "Do you mean lie next to you or...?"

Sam snorted his laugh. "Well, yeah. Unless you need something else?"

"No," the angel clarified quickly. "No, I think we've done quite enough of that recently." He climbed into the bed next to Sam and let the hunter entangle himself.

The smirk on Sam's face was relentless even when he closed his eyes. "Look, Dean literally slept for two days. Now that he's wearing that cord, he's mellowed out. So sue me if I wanted to take advantage of the fact that none of the three of us were presently being tortured or psychologically maimed for a few hours!"

He could feel Castiel's chuckle. It made Sam hug him closer. It was a rarity to hear his angel laugh, and he relished it. "I'm glad your first thought when you have time to recreate is relations with me."

"Of course it is. Have you seen you?"

Castiel paused before responding. "On occasion," he replied. "I much prefer seeing you."

The hunter may have dozed, but he started awake again just minutes later. "Cas?"

"I'm here, Sam."

"Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm not asleep, Sam," he was reminded.

"Oh. Right."

"Are you still sleeping badly?"

Sam frowned. He felt the same way as when a ghost was nearby, except for the chill. He shivered anyway. "Cas? I, um...Is it warm?"

There was a silence. Then Castiel turned to face him. "No. But you are. Are you sick, Sam?"

"I don't know. No. I'm just..." And then he remembered when he had felt this way before. Disorientation. Skin crawling. Restlessness.

He sat up.

Castiel was watching him. "Are you all right?"

"I need to get out of here. Cas, I need to get out. Now."

The angel touched his arm and pulled him out of the bed. "What do you need, Sam?"

"Out." He strode quickly through the door, out into the living area of the bunker. He sucked in a deep breath.

It was then that he saw Dean standing in his own doorway, watching him, a grimace on his face. "You too?"

Sam groaned and rolled his shoulders. "How long's it been?"

"Weeks. I gotta move, man. You do what you want, but I gotta go."

Sam nodded. "No, no, me too. How long you been feeling it?"

Dean shivered a bit. "I don't know. Day or two, it's been bad."

"Okay. We're both awake, and we aren't going to sleep like this. Let's just go."

Green eyes lit up, and Dean suddenly looked ten years younger. "Yeah?"

"I can't sleep."

"All I can do is sleep."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, we gotta get out of here. Cas? Cas, look," he said as his angel took a step closer to watch the two brothers with interest. "Look, we're stir crazy."

Castiel frowned severely. "What type of crazy is that?" he asked in bewilderment, as if he were trying to figure out if he should be healing something.

"It's the kind you get when you haven't stayed in one place so long since your brother was in Hell or Purgatory," Dean said helpfully. Sam threw him a look. "What? You explain it."

Sam took a breath. He was running his hands down his own bare arms, as if the stimulation could somehow still his creeping nerves. "Cas, Dean and I...We aren't meant to stay in one place too long. Even when I was with Amelia, and Dean was with Lisa, we were always fighting against the instinct to run. Back at school, I used to take off for weekends, just hop a bus to nowhere sometimes, or hitch someplace." Brady-the real Brady-had told him he was going to fail out or at least never get laid if he kept taking off like that every time he got itchy.

"We talking or we driving?" Dean grumped. "The halo can ride in the back if he's got to hear a bedtime story. Let's go."

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the moniker, but he turned to Sam. "I prefer not to ride, if you don't mind. Having finally gotten my wings back, I don't relish being confined in a vehicle."

"Sure, man. We'll let you know when we land someplace. How's that sound?" Sam was already rushing into his bedroom to grab a bag of supplies. He kept most of what he needed in the Impala at all times, but the fed suit had just been cleaned, and he wanted his knife of course, and damn it was good to be back on the road!

"We'll grab a newspaper once we're out of town!" Dean was shouting, and it sounded like the old Dean. Sam's heart filled with the thought. Screw this Mark. They were going to kick it in the ass.

It had been a long time since he had felt so optimistic. So it took him by surprise to find Castiel still frowning at him.

"What's wrong, Castiel?"

The angel took a breath. "Nothing is wrong. I suppose I don't understand human urgency."

Sam laughed brightly and rubbed his eyes. It was only three thirty, after all. "Yeah, well, we don't have an undefined lifespan."

"You do."

"Well...okay. Sure, we could live for a hundred and fifteen years. But we have to assume we won't."

"Especially since you already haven't."

The hunter snickered. "Yeah. Especially that."

"It seems that you should love more cautiously because you live a shorter life."

Sam stopped stuffing his laptop into his bag. "What did you say?"

"You should live cautiously, since you are more fragile than other creatures."

He watched him for a moment. Did angels make Freudian slips? Or was he imagining what he thought he had heard? "I thought...Nevermind. No, we need to live faster because it's all gone too quickly. And that's why we have to save as many humans as we can. Because they deserve to live the fullest life possible. Some of them will choose to use their time poorly. But that's their choice to make. No other creature should be able to take that away from them."

His angel was nodding slowly. "Of course, Sam. But you made me promise to be careful this morning. I would ask the same of you."

"Dean's a better driver than you think."

"That's not what I..." Castiel stopped and sighed when Sam winked at him.

"Relax, man. We're doing what we do. We holed up here and licked our wounds as long as we could. But Dean and me...We can't stay in one space. We gotta work. Soon as I figured out what was making me itch tonight, I knew we had to get out of here. And if Dean's been feeling it too, trust me that now is the best time. The guy needs his road food, or God help us all!"

***

Castiel watched his hunters tear off down the road with their music blaring in the night. The pace at which they lived was unforgiving. One minute, Sam was asking him to lie next to him, and the next, he and his brother were gone in no particular direction but away, with a rumble of an engine. He would never really understand humans, no matter how long he loved them and how many times he had to be one.

It had bothered him a bit when Sam had apologized for waking him. He knew it was the confusion of sleep which had caused him to say it, but that did not change the fact that Sam's brain still expected him to act as Sam acted. Logically, he knew Castiel no longer required sleep. Things without souls generally didn't. No one knew that better than Sam.

But there was still a part deep in Sam that refused to acknowledge that Castiel was alien. And he wondered if that was going to be a problem. Perhaps humans needed to be able to relate to people they loved physiologically as well as spiritually. As long as he had lived, it was quite difficult for him to ignore how fleeting a human's lifespan was, even for an average human.

Sam was not, in any imaginable way, average.

There were things Castiel could not give him. But perhaps the extra things he could offer would make up for that. A cursed little angel, the defiant garrison captain, the once and future downfall of everything he touched, yet he would do anything-had done everything!-to protect Sam Winchester and his brother. That loyalty had to count for something. Perhaps he could not be what Sam's brain expected him to be, but he could be what Sam needed him to be: steadfast, loving and strong.

Part of free will was choosing to love, and Castiel had done so, with his whole being. Sam had made the same choice. And unless Sam changed his mind about that, Castiel would be by his side in all things.

***

Sam put his foot up on the concrete slab next to the gas pumps, and turned the page in the newspaper. "Okay," he said finally. "Here's something."

Dean's head popped up from his inspection of his Baby's tires. "Yeah?"

"Get this."

His big brother smiled. He loved Sam's _get this_. It always meant something challenging. He might roll his eyes or huff, but those two words, spoken in his kid brother's half-amused, half-annoyed work voice, gave him an adrenaline high.

"So the obits list four deaths, in a Korean-American neighborhood, where there's a mention of no surviving family, estate auctions to be held next week."

"So?"

"So they're all part of the same club, and all proceeds are going to that club."

"Okay. Odd. But sounds more like some company guy trying to make ends meet than a-"

"Than a cult with an express purpose of determining one's own afterlife?"

"What? Where the hell do you get that?"

Sam was smiling that smug little smile of his that came out whenever he thought he knew something Dean did not. "The club's name and symbol are listed."

Dean snatched the paper as the gasoline pump shut off. "Yeong-won." He shrugged. "Okay. What the crap is that?"

"I don't know. But I do know the other part."

He looked down again. "Gwishin?"

"It's a form of vengeful spirit, Dean."

Things slotted into place in Dean's mind. God, he loved being back at work. "And the symbol. It's the symbol for...?" He replaced the gas nozzle and brushed his car with loving fingers as he and Sam prepared to jump in.

"It's a white crane on a mountain. Immortal life."

Maybe Dean recognized the word gwishin as relating to a vengeful spirit, but Sam was a walking encyclopedia of weird. "Here's what I don't get," he said.

"What?"

"How do you know what a white bird on a mountain symbolizes in freaking Korea, but you thought a Transformer had written the Leviathan tablet?"

It took a moment, but when Sam remembered what Dean was referencing, he gave him the usual head jerk and sour glare that said Dean had earned a point on his side of the board.

He grinned. "Okay, Wikipedia," he called as he climbed into the car. "Where to?"

"Richland." Sam slid into his seat on the other side of the bench.

"Seventy through Kansas City?"

"Seventy through K. C.," Sam confirmed as he got comfortable. He already had his phone out to conduct research, in spite of a massive yawn that urged its way out of his mouth.

Dean grinned as the engine roared to life. "Hear that? Baby missed us." He glanced at Sam briefly. "Well. Maybe not you."

"Whatever. I'm going to look up how to gank a gwishin, and then I'm crashing. You think five hours?"

"If traffic ain't too bad."

Traffic was bad. Not only that, but he had ended up having to 435 around Kansas City, and he hated 435ing around Kansas City. For one thing, it was completely out of the way. For another, that meant no stop for pie at The Upper Crust on Westport. Why did it seem like he never got his damn pie?

But there was a ridiculous amount of construction on 70 through the city, so he gave up and took the detours.

"Sorry, man."

Dean looked over at the resting hulk beside him. "Thought you were sleeping."

"Road changed."

He nodded a bit. After years on every highway in the contiguous forty-eight, he understood how Sam could feel a shift from the interstate to the bypass.

"No pie this time."

He smiled. "Why would you even think about that?"

The younger man shrugged and closed his eyes again. "Because you were thinking about it."

Dean tried to dim down his pleasure at that. It was amazing to be back on the same wavelength as Sam again. It had been too long. He thought back to a major hunt in the past where they had been so in tune with one another that Sam had actually not spoken most of the time they were working it. Too bad Castiel had not gotten that memo. That had been the beginning of the end, as Dean remembered it. But he had not known it at the time, and hunting Eve in that town had felt like a hunt was supposed to feel.

He often thought of that hunt, how quiet Sam had been, not because something was wrong, but because it was right. Dean had made the calls, for better or worse, and Sam had been aligned with him. It had never lasted long, that synchrony, but once in a while, he and Sam were in lockstep, and it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Of course, he might not be remembering everything quite right. But he remembered how it felt.

He knew if he tried to express that sentiment out loud, it would come out horribly wrong and he would ruin the peace. He could imagine Sam's face if he mentioned how quiet Sam got when he was trusting Dean's instincts. It wasn't that he wanted Sam to shut up and follow orders. It was the feeling that his brother was reading his mind, that they were attuned to one another and no explanations or debate was necessary, because their goals were the same and their methods were tried and proven. It was the feeling he got when he and Sam cleared a house or apartment together, guns ready, with nothing but silent motions, trust and familiarity guiding their cooperation.

It was Sam getting cabin fever just hours after it hit Dean. It was Sam saying they should hit the road at three thirty in the morning, because no matter what they each said about apple pie lives, neither of them were built for rest. It was Sam knowing he had given up on wanting an apple pie life, but still wanted a damn apple pie!

"Stop in Odessa. There's a bakery there. I'm sure they sell pie." With that, the man went back to snoring.

Dean smiled and pressed a bit harder on the gas. God, it was good to be in synch and on the road again.

***

Sam frowned to himself. "Cas?" he murmured.

His brother smacked him with the newspaper he had fallen asleep with. "Rise and shine, Sammy!"

He groaned and pushed his hair out of his face. "You promised you'd never say that to me again, jackass."

"No. I promised never to make you listen to _Asia_ again. Get up. We're in Odessa."

Sam was unsure why Odessa warranted waking up. "So?" he said grumpily.

"So? Pie! Dude, it was your idea!"

He doubted that very seriously. But if Dean needed a break, he couldn't argue. He had been driving all night. "Okay," he sighed. "Is it warm?"

"You kidding? Take a layer off. It's freaking 55 degrees! It's awesome!"

Sam looked at his brother for a moment and wondered if he was particularly loud and cheerful today or if it was just his own headache that made it seem that way. "Yeah. Okay." When the car pulled into a bakery parking lot, he got out and stretched. "Castiel, I'm praying to let you know we're in Odessa, Missouri, at a damn pie place off the interstate. The Mixing Bowl."

Dean was growling audibly when he finished his prayer. It was nice to be out in the open where he could do that without warding sigils blocking his voice from his angel. He shrugged at Dean for an explanation.

"Doesn't open till seven. What the crap?"

"Dean, it's Odessa. Okay? And it's a weekend. Relax. You can stand to stretch another ten minutes. And those gwishins, if that's what they are, they're not getting any deader."

The look he received made it clear that Dean sometimes wondered why people thought of Sam as the smart one. "That's kind of the problem, dumbass. We're heading their way to make them deader."

"R-right, but I'm saying. Shut up."

The older man laughed and leaned on the car. "So? Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

Sam got a strange dark pleasure out of seeing Dean nearly fall off the Impala. "Gun down, dumbass," he instructed smugly.

Castiel gave Dean a suspicious stare. "I thought the days of you pulling a weapon on me were over."

"And I thought there'd be a day when you appearing out of freaking nowhere wouldn't give me a heart attack!" he roared. "We were both wrong!"

The angel stared another moment, then approached Sam. "Why are you here?"

"Dean needs pie."

There was a roll of blue eyes. "I suspect that's why we are here specifically. Why are you in Odessa?"

"Oh. Um, I think there is a sort of cult out in Richland. Couple of folks died without family, giving all their worldly goods up to a group, whose symbol is a white crane on a mountain, and it’s called Yeong-won e Gwishin."

Castiel frowned in concentration. "Eternity...I'm sorry, I'm unfamiliar with the other word. Are you pronouncing it properly?"

"Gwishin. It's a Korean ghost. Whoever wrote the obits probably doesn't know what the organization is, and not enough people know Korean to care what the translation is. And anyway, it's a charity with a strange name. Who would care?"

"I suppose I would if its moniker conjured eternal poltergeists."

"Actually-"

"Oh here we go," Dean sighed under his breath.

"-they're a form of vengeful spirit. Created when a dead soul refuses to be reaped."

He was getting an odd look from Castiel now. "You're assuming this is a hunt because something in the company title translates to ghost of an angry Korean?"

Sam felt flustered suddenly, especially when Dean burst into laughter. "Well, I mean, four deaths in one week, and-and all in the same..."

"Church," Castiel provided quietly.

"What?"

"What you are describing is a Korean place of meditation and spirituality, influenced by Chinese culture. Daoists sometimes use white cranes to symbolize purity and fidelity, and devotion to The Immortals. And there is a strong determination to dispel negative emotions such as anger, which would perhaps leave a human as a vengeful spirit after death. It is a warning, an eternity of suffering when one cannot rise above malice and anger."

"Daoists, Sammy? You're having me hunt vengeful Daoists? What are they going to do, huh? Om us to death?"

"I'm fairly certain om is not meant to be used as a verb, and that you may be thinking more of zen Buddhism. Although many Daoists, or Taoists, are followers of Buddha, there is a difference." He smiled softly. "Incidentally, the _Tao Te Ching_ suggests that running, hunting and chasing are the things which will make one mad."

"Yeah," Dean said, "well, _not_ doing those things is making me mad. We may as well check it out. Or...you want to flap your wings so bad, you go check it out while we eat breakfast."

"Dean!"

"What?"

Castiel smiled tightly. "It's all right, Sam. I would be happy to look into this group for you. Then I intend to check back in with Hannah. I promised Balthazar I would...swing by, as he said."

With that, the angel disappeared, and Sam sighed in frustration. Dean was already heading for the bakery entrance, so he followed. The older hunter cupped his hands over his eyes and leaned into the glass to peer inside.

"You really going to let Cas scout a case for us?"

"Why not?" Dean shrugged. "He knows enough by now to tell a Daoist from a cultist."

"I guess. Can you read the menu board from here?"

Dean looked at him in surprise. "Uh, a little. Mostly bread and crap. But there's-"

"Pie?"

Suddenly, Dean was looking at him with a strange expression. "Yeah. Sammy, you okay?"

"What? I can't want pie?"

It was obvious Dean could not come up with a good reason why not. "Looks like they got fruit, pecan-"

Before he could get any further, a figure approached the door to unlock it. "Well, hello! Sorry if you've been waiting! Come on in!"

Sam practically knocked Dean over as he scrambled inside.

"Whoa! Dude! What's wrong with you?"

"Hungry! Come on!" Sam hurried to one of the four tables, and dropped his laptop with a thud. When he turned back to the counter, his brother was staring at him. "What?"

"Uh, nothing. I guess I'm not the only one missing my road food, huh? Ma'am, we're looking for pie for breakfast."

The older woman glanced suspiciously at Sam, then smiled at Dean. "Oh, I'm sorry. We don't sell by the slice. Only-"

"We'll take one each."

"One what, dude?" His eyes went round. "What, one pie each?"

"Pecan."

"I'm guessing he wants a pecan pie," he sighed at the woman, reaching into his wallet for cash. "I'll have a cherry, if you got it. And two coffees." He looked back at Sam. "You want some vanilla latte thing or something?"

"Black." Sam waited, but Dean didn't move. "What's wrong?"

He rolled his eyes. "Okay. One pecan, one cherry and two black coffees."

Sam retreated to the table and pulled out his laptop while Dean paid and flirted with the woman fifteen years his senior. It made Sam ache for Castiel to hear Dean purring at that woman for fun. It was strange. He had been with Castiel just yesterday. Why was he suddenly so desperate to touch him, as though it had been weeks or longer?

Dean approached the table with two coffees, then returned with their pies. "Okay, weirdo. Eat up."

But while Sam dove into his breakfast happily, forgetting all about his laptop, he looked up to see Dean watching him.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"Of course I'm okay. Except that it's hot."

"It ain't hot in here," Dean remarked, and something like worry crossed his face. "You feel okay?"

"Would you back off? I feel fine!" Sam felt a wave of anger flush through him. "Why don't you ever trust me?"

Confusion and hurt splashed across Dean's face. Then it was gone, and he narrowed his eyes at his brother. "You're acting messed up. Knock it off."

"I just want a nice, uncomplicated hunt. Is that too much to ask?"

"You pissed about the Daoists?"

Doubt began creeping into Sam's mind, and he felt a bit disoriented. "I don't know. I guess so. Should I be?"

"Okay, Sam. What the hell has gotten into you? You're so weird!"

"You're...weird," he shot back, flustered. Then he frowned. Had he just said that?

Dean stared. "Shut up and eat. You obviously need more sleep. We'll wait on Cas and either head to Richland or find someplace else to be. Okay?"

"Whatever."

Castiel was waiting by the car. He leaned toward Sam for a quick kiss, but Sam felt himself jump back. Castiel watched him with interest. "I apologize," he said softly so that Dean could not hear. "I thought it didn't bother you in front of your brother anymore."

Sam frowned deeply. "It doesn't. I'm sorry. I just got really uncomfortable just then." He smiled sheepishly. "Can we try again?"

The angel reached up to meet Sam's lips for just an instant.

That was enough for Dean. "Okay, Romeos. We're in public. And by public, I mean I'm right here. Stow it. What did you find out, Cas?"

"If it is a cult, it is highly dedicated to the teachings of the Tao. And the fact that there were four deaths all at once is to be expected. It is a hospice. Each was very ill or very old, or both. And I doubt any of them refused their reaper."

"Dammit,” Sam blurted out.

Castiel glanced at Dean with an amused smile. "Yes," he said dryly. "What a disappointment that these are good people who are not so filled with wrath that they have corrupted their own souls."

Sam sighed. "Sorry, man. I guess I saw a case because I wanted to."

"It's all right. We've driven further for less. Remember Dodge? The witch activity?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Ended up being a horrible, widespread food poisoning."

"Worst weekend of my life."

A wave of heat knocked Sam off balance, and Castiel reached out quickly to steady him. "I don't...Dean, I don't feel so good."

"I knew it! Cas, he's been weird all morning. He got a fever?"

Castiel was watching him curiously. "Not really. Sam?"

He sighed then. "It's okay. It was just for a minute. I'm good. Just hot." He pulled off his top layer and fanned his tee shirt. "You can't tell me it isn't warm out here."

Dean looked at Castiel. "He keeps saying that. It even sixty degrees?"

"No," the angel confirmed quietly. "Dean? Have you dreamed of Purgatory recently?"

"What the hell does that-"

"Please, Dean."

Green eyes stared at them. "Uh. Yeah. That's why I was awake this morning. Purgatory nightmare. Or, getting out of Purgatory." Dean lowered his eyes briefly. "Getting out without you."

"Cas didn't make it."

The eyes narrowed. "What?"

Sam licked his lips slowly. "Cas didn't make it. That's what you told me."

"Okay. But he did. He's right there. So? What's that got to do with anything now?"

"Castiel! I'm fine! Let's just go. I don't want to talk about this anymore." Sam's chest was tightening.

The angel took hold of his elbow. “A moment ago, Dean was remembering your unfortunate time in a place called Dodge, when he had been ill. You began to feel ill yourself.”

An irrational desire to get into the Impala and lock the door behind him was filling Sam’s thoughts. Was this what Dean felt like every time someone tried to talk to him about what was going on inside his head? All Sam wanted in the world was for everyone to stop looking at him.

For his part, Dean was staring. “What’s going on? Why’s he panicking?”

“I’m right here!” Sam shrieked. “Stop talking about me like I’m not right here!”

“Why’s he so hot then?”

Castiel took a breath. “I wonder if perhaps he is suffering from my own discomfort as well.”

“What?” Dean shouted. “What the hell does that...What?”

But the angel shook his head. “It seems that somehow Sam is feeling the emotions and stress of those around him, in addition to his own. I imagine that is...frustrating.”

Sam ripped his arm out of Castiel’s grasp, and stalked across the parking lot. A maze of visions hedged into his mind all at once, and he stumbled. Castiel was there just as he began to fall. “Stop it! Stop...I’ve got enough of my own shit! Stop!”

The world quieted then, and he felt himself spiraling downward, even though he knew Castiel was holding him steady.


	2. Water

Dean was pacing. Even Castiel could feel the anxiety, so he suspected it would be overwhelming for Sam. "What the hell, Cas? What the hell could do this? You think it's from the banshee dick?"

"No," Castiel sighed. "No, I don't think so."

Dean frowned at him. "And what are you talking about, your discomfort? You said that's why he's so hot. What's that about?"

He flinched. A very ancient habit, one that had been beaten out of him by Host socialization eons ago, flared just outside Dean's perception. He was grateful Sam was not awake to see the way his left wing had tried to shrug and curl to hide his face.

"Cas? What?"

He frowned and would not meet Dean's eyes. "It is not...not something I would like to talk about."

His human-brother made a face. "What? What are we talking about, like a pon farr moment?"

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

Dean's hands flew up. "Metatron gave you Star Wars but not Star Trek?"

"No, I...I watched Star Wars after the Great Fall, because I knew Sam liked...This isn't important right now!"

Dean heaved a sigh. "Okay. Right. Let's get him someplace we can talk. I'll get us a room."

"He will...need water."

"What?"

The blue gaze was low. "I suspect...he will want to be near water."

"Like a pool?"

"A natural one."

Dean gave a low growl. "Fine. And you're going to have to tell me what's going on with you. I'll find us a place, but you gotta start talking."

There were campsites at Lake Venita, and Dean eventually found a tiny cabin near the water. He and Castiel lay Sam out on the one bed and then squared shoulders with one another.

Dean folded his arms over his chest expectantly.

Castiel sighed, and began to speak, as though a minute had passed and not an hour.

"I believe Sam will be all right. This is...this is likely very uncomfortable for him, but I don't think it will hurt him in any way."

"He's face down in freaking Odessa, Cas."

He swallowed. "Yes, I...Of course. I just mean that he should recover without...without..."

"You know what's going on, Cas, you better spit it out."

"I don't. Not exactly. I just meant whatever he is perceiving from me will not harm him."

"Why is he perceiving anything at all from you? Or me? And is it going to be everybody or just us?"

"How could I know that?" he snapped.

Dean's eyes narrowed sharply. "I don't know what you know!" he barked. "All I know is you know something you ain't telling."

He tried to bite down his temper. "I don't know why Sam is experiencing our emotions, if that is what it is at all. I simply mean to say that, while it may be strange and uncomfortable for him, what he receives from me is neither harmful nor permanent." He ground his teeth together irritably. "It is simply...awkward."

Green eyes rolled now. "Oh. Awkward. Good. Because you and Sam weren't awkward before this."

Castiel had to turn away. He couldn't stand to be under Michael's gaze anymore. "I would prefer to have time alone with Sam when he awakens."

Michael shook his head. "Cas? My brother is lying there in an angel-induced sleep because he's got some freaky connection to the two of us. I'm not leaving till I know if he's all right."

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. "Not Michael. Dean."

"What? What did you just..."

"I apologize. Having trouble focusing."

"Great! We haven't had an episode of crazy angel yet this season!"

A glare far too vicious cut at Dean. "Your sarcasm helps nothing!"

"Your clamming up helps just as much!"

A whining groan of pain alerted them to Sam's consciousness. Each whirled on him, and Dean shouldered the angel away roughly to get to his brother first. Castiel glowered darkly, felt his own palm reaching for his friend before he realized what he was about to do.

At the same moment, Sam also knew. "Cas, no!" he screamed, and grabbed Dean's arm to yank him out of Castiel's reach.

Dean huffed out his breath, and rolled when he fell to the side of the bed, so that he emerged standing on his guard. "The hell was that?"

Sam was staring at his lover with wide eyes full of hurt betrayal. "Dean, back away," he commanded in a strained, hoarse voice.

Castiel dropped his hand to his side. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "It's fine now."

"It's not fine! I can feel you, and you aren't fine! Cas, what the hell? You nearly smote my freaking brother! Not hit him, not push him. You almost killed him!"

"What?" Dean shouted.

"What is wrong with you?"

Castiel tried to bite down his temper. "He kept me from you," he said softly. "I need to see if you're all right."

"Well, I'm a little concerned! That's how I am!" Sam struggled to sit up the rest of the way, never taking his eyes off Castiel.

Dean looked from one to another. "You were going to snuff me out, Cas?" he said quietly.

"No," he murmured. His voice was full of shame, and he could not meet the eyes of his lover or human-brother. "No. I simply wanted to, for an instant. I have control of myself. But not my emotional state. I can promise you I would not have acted on...I was reaching to shove you away. It isn't what I wanted to do. But it was what I was going to do."

"Sammy?"

The younger man sighed. "He's telling the truth. He wouldn't have done it."

"But you wanted to. You wanted to kill me because I got between you and Sam."

"Yes." The blue eyes closed tightly.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand. "I can't deal with this right now. I'm...I'm filthy."

Castiel's wings dropped low in humiliation.

"I gotta...shower?" The end of Sam's statement lilted up into a query, as though he was unsure if he had used the right word. Then he shook his head. "But...but I-Where are we? I need to be outside."

He moved to the door, and Dean hurried to follow him, careful to not block Castiel's line of sight to his lover. Dean backed out of the cabin behind Sam, watching Castiel every moment.

Castiel wanted to assure him again that he would not hurt his friend. But there was little point in that, since just Dean's presence was beginning to disturb him.

He followed at a considerable distance to find Sam wandering toward the lake beach.

"I think...This is best. This is better than..." Sam was muttering to himself. He began to strip off his clothing.

Dean shook his head. "What the hell, Sam?"

"So dirty. And I gotta get clean. Should be natural water, right? That's the best way."

Dean turned away awkwardly when his brother skinned his boxer briefs down too.

Castiel felt a flush of want fill him at seeing his lover naked and beautiful before the lake water. He felt his teeth bare.

Sam stepped into the water, up to his waist, without registering the chill. Then he glanced back at the angel. "You coming?"

Dean frowned.

It was everything Castiel could do not to follow. Seeing his warrior like that, looking up the small hill at him, asking for him to join him in that cool water, to be cleaned and loved...

But he dug his heels in. "No, Sam. I...I better not."

Dean shook his head again. "Obviously you ain't going to let him drown. Can I trust you to watch him, you crazy bastard?"

"I will let no harm come to him."

The man ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "All right. I'm going to do some research. Then we're going to need some food. And if the Twilight Zone episode can dial down for a few hours, I need some sleep too."

"Yes, Dean."

Fingers snapped in front of his face, drawing his attention away from the man basking in the sunlight. "Hey!" Dean interrupted. "You look like you're going to eat my brother. You're mostly all here, right?"

"I am. A bit of confusion here and there, some strong reactions. But I would never hurt Sam."

"Right. Well, you'll forgive me if I keep my angel blade on me."

His wings had bristled up at the stimulation Sam was providing, but now he dropped them. "Yes. I am sorry, Dean. I understand you wanting to protect yourself."

His friend took a breath. "Well? Obviously you're the one that wants to be out there in the water. Go on. Just keep him safe."

Castiel did not need to be told twice.


	3. Outside Looking In

Celesma watched with interest as the Castiel angel removed the clothing from his vessel. She took note of the way the human's eyes widened in appreciation, the way his lips parted to sigh. That other human, the one who got in the way, he had gone into the little dwelling, angry and worried, as far as she could tell. She didn't like him. He got in the way. She was glad he was gone. Now she could watch the others.

The human Sam reached for his angel as though he ached for him. There was quiet urgency. She listened.

"Cas," he breathed, pulling him in to an embrace. "Cas, I want you. God, Cas, I need you! Is this...is this me or you?"

The angel lowered his gaze, and grimaced. Esma watched curiously. What was the angel feeling? It wasn't anger. More like worry. But not that either. "It...may be me, Sam. And that means it wouldn't be right...Not now. Not if you're somehow receiving signals from me. I wouldn't know if you...if you actually wanted me."

Morality confused Esma. It seemed to keep good people from doing things they wished to do, but did nothing to prevent bad people from doing bad things.

"Cas, please. I haven't stopped wanting you in weeks. And now I can feel what you want from me! Please, Cas! Let me use this! I-I need you!"

The anguish in Castiel's eyes was a sign that the angel fought against his own instincts. That, too, confused Esma. What could that possibly gain him? Instincts were there for a reason. Why didn't he just take?

The human's voice was becoming low and rough. "Castiel."

Blue eyes closed in frustration, and Castiel gave a small whine. It was amazing to hear what his name from this man's lips did to him.

"Castiel, I can feel everything. I can feel exactly what you want me to do to you. Let me."

Tears were forming now, and wasn't that curious? The angel fought against himself so fiercely that he was leaking tears to drop down his face into the lake water. "I can't control what I'm feeling, Sam," he cried out.

"And I can't control that I feel it too. So let me use it. I feel how empty you are, how afraid. I know you want me, that it's beginning to hurt how bad you want me. Don't you know what that does to me? Back at the bunker, you said you'd had enough. But I don't think that's true. That's not true at all. You want more than you think I want to give you. You...you just don't trust yourself. Or...or is it that you don't trust me? This is confusing, Cas. It's a feedback loop. Help me figure out what's me and what's you."

Esma could see the desperation on the celestial's face, and he looked much like a creature might if it were starving. It was very interesting.

"Sam, would you...You're interpreting what I want, but..."

The human nodded. Esma wondered if the temperature of the water wasn't too cool for his skin. He was beginning to shiver slightly. "I'm getting it wrong. Okay. It's sexual, but it isn't sex that you want. Not...like we've had before. You..."

Castiel licked at his lips, and smiled strangely. "It's far more intimate. Something a mate would do."

"Then what? Cas, I'm your mate, right? I mean...I mean, that's what we are?"

There was uncertainty in Sam's voice now. Esma found this to be the oddest thing about the exchange. She had assumed they were mates. How could they not be certain of that themselves?

Castiel looked as though he were in pain. "I don't...Sam, while you and Dean ate, after I checked on the Korean hospice, I ascended to Heaven to check on Hannah and Balthazar. The moment I was there, before I could see her, he pulled me aside. Asked what was wrong with...with my wings."

"Your wings? They look fine to me!"

Esma shook her head. Stupid human. Those wings were not fine. That was apparent.

"They are not fine."

She nodded in agreement.

"They are so full of emotional expression that I cannot control them in the slightest. I feel exposed in all ways. I am leaving feathers behind every time I move. They are in desperate need of grooming, even though they should be cleaned by my Grace, as is my clothing and vessel. I cannot fathom why I am deteriorating in this way. I'm..."

"You're what, Cas?" The human reached again, and this time his angel let him hold him while the water lapped in tiny wind waves around their naked skin.

Esma watched their bodies. They were both very strong. But their muscles were toned in different ways. Sam was large everywhere, but Castiel's bulk was in his legs and back. It was lean muscle for him, graceful stamina apparent in the way he moved. There was a roll to his shoulders, a slight forward jut of his head on his neck. Sam stood straighter, trusting everything to his strength and balance. His long throat was pinched under his chin as he gazed down at his lover.

Esma liked their noses.

"I'm not clean," came the whispered confession.

Sam's eyes displayed a strange emotion Esma had no word for. "That's it. That's what you're feeling. Cas, if you want me to help you feel clean, let me! And it is sexual for you somehow. So make love to me when I've finished."

"That you even want to touch me like this...Sam, I'm so grateful for you. Whatever is happening to each of us, I want you to feel that most."

Then there was a handsome smile, a cupping of hands on cheeks, a touching of lips against lips. "I do feel that, Cas."

Esma watched the human run his hands everywhere, lowering himself in the water to take Castiel's feet each at a time to massage them. He ran his hands over the strong legs. Then he wordlessly instructed Castiel to lay on the surface of the water, and let his wings and limbs spread. There was playful chuckling while the angel found his balance, then Sam was working on the wings too. Esma was impressed that the angel could remain floating atop the water while Sam strummed his fingers through the long feathers. It seemed to soothe the creature into a relaxed state, and the human was smiling down at him.

After some time spent in this way, Sam whispered into Castiel's ear, eliciting a small laugh. "Is that a yes?" he said with a grin.

"I'm in no position to argue, Sam. I'm the luckiest angel who ever lived. You are incredible. I don't know why this is happening to us, but I'm glad you know how to put it to good use."

Esma lay back and watched as the large creatures stepped off toward the rocks to copulate in the water. It was so intriguing the way one of them pushed the other against the smooth rocks, gently but firmly. Their hands were busy below the water, and then they were writhing together, and the sounds from their throats were inspiring.

After watching them bring themselves pleasure, Esma thought their time together would come to an end. One would fly or swim or walk away from the other. But they did not part from one another as she had expected. She wondered what there was left after the coupling was complete.

She watched the human lower to touch their foreheads together. Hands were on faces, on arms. They spoke in quiet voices, and then the Sam human was running his fingers through the thick wings again, lazily this time.

Feathers floated free in the water, and one drifted over to where Esma lay, unseen, along the water's edge. She reached down and touched it. It dissolved in her hand, but that was no surprise. Angel feathers were not meant to be touched on this plane. It intrigued her that this human could do so.

She watched the blue eyes gazing up at the man in obvious devotion. It was interesting. All of it was interesting.

Esma thought again of the man who had come between these two creatures. She would not allow him to do that again. First, he had separated them, taking Sam away in a vehicle. Then, when the angel had finally found Sam again, the other man had sent Castiel away. Why the angel took orders from a human, Esma could hardly guess. But that human seemed to be in charge of where the Sam human went, and whether the angel was permitted time with him. Perhaps Castiel was simply following orders to curry favor with the human, to gain time with his chosen mate.

She considered for a moment that perhaps the reason that other man kept getting between these two was that he himself had no chosen mate. She had wanted a chance to experiment with these creatures. Perhaps she could accomplish two things at once.

She reached for the mind of the human inside the cabin and gleaned some surface preferences from him. Esma ensured that the two creatures were still embracing one another in the water, whispering into ears and touching gently, and she took the form of a human female.

She leaned over the water to catch her reflection and squinted at it. A smooth face with a nice nose. Dark eyes and dark hair. She looked down at her body as she walked toward the cabin entrance. Shapely. Strong. Smooth. Soft. It would do nicely.

Just before her knock was answered, Esma remembered a very important part. She had forgotten to apply a mouth. She hurried to do so, and used it to smile at the man who opened the door.


	4. Tempering

Dean had a hand on his gun. Sam or the buckets-of-crazy angel out there wouldn't bother knocking. 

He was an experienced hunter. Dean Winchester was probably the most experienced hunter on the planet. He knew good things happened, but they didn't last, and most of the time, good things were too good to be true. So when he opened the door to find the incredibly beautiful woman standing outside in the middle of nowhere by herself, he considered it incredible in its literal sense, and kept his hand on his pearl grip. 

But he wasn't stupid. He gave her his most encouraging grin. "Well, hello. You lost?"

She smiled back. "Not anymore." The voice was softer than he had expected. 

"How can I help you?" His gaze flitted behind this woman to seek others, to find Sam and Castiel. But it seemed they were alone. Which, he considered, could always be a very good thing. 

The woman was small but clearly athletic. She had vaguely Asian features, but even the connoisseur of gorgeous Asian beauties could not have said where she was from. She wore a sun dress which seemed far too cool for the air they were in, and it just made Dean want to wrap his arms around her and keep her warm. 

It was like she had walked right out of his favorite fantasy. 

"I'm...afraid," she whispered. 

Dean's heart lurched with an odd level of sympathy, and his muscles tightened in preparation for a fight. "What happened?" he growled. 

She watched him curiously. "What do you think happened?"

He frowned. "I mean, are you hurt? Did somebody...bother you?"

"Yes," she responded quickly. "Someone was chasing me. I think it is gone now, but I'm still afraid."

Dean stepped out to look around the cabin. He spotted Sam and Castiel still languishing in the water. He considered calling out to them to warn them they might have company. But everything was completely serene around them. 

"It may have been my imagination," she sighed finally, touching his arm. 

The hunter took in a breath. His spider sense was not tingling to indicate danger, but if this woman was afraid, he wasn't going to turn her away. "It's better to be safe than sorry," he said kindly, and gestured that she should come inside. 

She smiled a little. 

It suddenly occurred to Dean that there might be a language and cultural barrier between them. That would explain the strange, choppy way the woman spoke, the way something seemed just a little off. 

He cleared his throat. "Where are you from?" he asked quietly. 

She looked at him with that curious stare. "Where do I seem to be from?"

The man laughed a bit awkwardly. "I don't know."

Her large eyes searched his. Then she smiled again. "I am from Taiwan. I'm Esma. Do you have a name?"

"Dean." And now he couldn't help his grin. It wasn't often he met a gorgeous woman in the middle of nowhere who wasn't bleeding or trying to eat someone. "I'm from Kansas."

"Dean from Kansas." There suddenly came a brightness to her eyes. "Kansas!" she cried, and clapped her hands together in delight. "Where the little girl comes from!"

He gestured toward the couch, and she sat happily, tucking her legs up under her with neither modesty nor enticement. He liked this woman. "What little girl?"

"The one with all the companions. Dorothy!"

Having encountered the legend himself, he found it amusing that this woman thought of that hunter as a little girl. "Yeah. She's from Kansas too."

"One of my favorite stories. Not my story, of course. I'm not sure where that came from. Do you have a favorite story?"

Dean found himself dropping down beside her. He felt a need to be close. If something really was after this woman, it would have to go through him to get to her. "I don't know. Guess I wasn't big into fairy tales as a kid."

Her face fell, and he regretted his words immediately. 

Dean wracked his mind for a story which he had not seen come to life in a horrible way yet. "Atlantis," he blurted out. 

The big eyes narrowed. "Atlantis?"

"Yeah." He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. "Always kind of liked the idea of Atlantis. Lost city, lost library. You know."

The smile was back, but this time it was softer. "Dean, are you alone?"

He caught himself looking at the shape of the lithe muscles on her arm, and lifted his gaze quickly. "Yes. What?"

A spark of amusement was back. "Are you alone, Dean?"

"Yeah. I mean, my brother is...They're out at the lake. I should probably check on him..."

"Shouldn't you keep me safe? It's what you do, isn't it? I get the sense that that's what you do. How you see yourself. Protector."

Dean's weariness seemed to be catching up to him now. He was feeling foggy. "Yeah. I want to protect you."

"I know you do. You wanted me to be strong enough to protect myself, but you want to do it for me. Interesting contradiction."

He shook his head to clear it. "That's not...No. I just like..."

"You like to be the one looking after those you consider yours. It's why you won't leave the Sam one alone. It's best if he needs you. You want him to be strong, but you want him to need you too."

"Now wait a minute-"

"Dean, aren't I exactly what you want? Wouldn't you want to love me? Keep me safe?"

Dean cringed. "Who are you? What are you doing?"

Esma reached up to touch his cheek softly, and he leaned into it with desperation he could not control. "I'm Esma. I'm simply curious. And I'm not doing anything except heightening the emotions you already have, letting them surface so I can view them. I'm freeing you of the restraints which lock in all those strange feelings, making them more pronounced so I can better study them."

His eyes had been slipping closed, but now they burst open. "No! No, you can't do that! The Mark! You can't-"

"Shh, Dean," she cooed, and he quieted. "Dean, when I asked if you were alone, I meant...You feel alone. Don't you?"

He squeezed his eyes closed. "Please don't do this. Things are covered up for a reason."

"You're more interesting than I thought you would be, Dean. After watching you for so many days, I thought you were simple compared to the others. But you're not, are you? You're layered. And you are alone."

Dean felt drawn to this woman in a way he had never been to anyone before. He needed her. He needed her to need his protection, his strength. She was everything he wanted. A rush of affection and loneliness hit him all at once, and he reached for her. 

She smiled. "Let's bring all those curious layers to the surface, shall we?"

***

Castiel was letting his eyes slip closed. 

Sam frowned at him. "Is that...Cas, what's going on?"

The angel took a breath. "I'm relaxing. I thought you were too."

"How can you relax? It's so damn cold!"

Castiel frowned as well. "Sam, it hasn't gotten any colder since you were complaining of the heat."

"It's cold," he said firmly. "What the hell are we doing out here in the water?"

"The...the temperature is pleasing to me."

Sam's eyes took on a sharp quality. He could feel anger building up inside him, and he could not identify why. "To you. And it's always about you, isn't it, Castiel? What you want. What you need. Has it occurred to you that there might be things I need?"

Hurt filled Castiel's face. "Let's get you inside where you'll be warmer."

Sam trudged out of the water, up the beach and to his clothes. He slid his damp skin into his jeans. "Hannah would probably have liked the cold. Wouldn't she?"

Castiel sighed. "Sam, your emotions are unstable right now, and you're-"

"No, I felt that! I mentioned her name and you felt guilt! What's there to feel guilty about, Cas?"

His lover clenched his teeth. "Sam, I feel a great deal of guilt when I think of my brothers and sisters. It has nothing to do with-"

"I'm hungry."

Castiel rolled his eyes in exasperation. He had followed Sam, and the man could see he had dried off and applied his clothing again with a thought. He reached for Sam's hand. "Sam, I know this is difficult, and you're becoming very confused. But you cannot-"

Sam's eyes closed tightly, and he turned to face his angel. "Cas, I'm so angry. I'm so...Cas, help me. I thought it was fading, whatever this is, but it isn't. I can feel you and Dean, and I can't...I can't keep it all away. I'm hungry and tired, and my wings hurt so badly, and I'm so, so angry. It's the Mark, and I know it, but I can't push it away."

Castiel swallowed. "Come to me, Sam." His wings stretched to enclose his hunter in them. 

At last, everything seemed to quiet inside him. He heaved an exhausted sigh, and when he spoke, it was a whisper. "Cas, why do my wings hurt?"

"They don't, my love. Mine do."

Sam twisted in the embrace to look down at him. "But why?"

The ancient creature took a long breath, and let it out slowly. "Because I'm...It's better since you groomed them. But...Sam, I'm so sorry you can feel my discomfort. I suspect the hunger and anger is coming from Dean, but the rest of it...Sam, an angel, from the time he awakens, his only thoughts are of the Host and our Father's will. But beneath that, there are emotions that must be tempered with discipline. There is a very...painful stage..."

Sam felt his chest tighten. He was beginning to have trouble breathing normally. An overwhelming sense of fear was creeping up his throat. 

"It was very painful for me. More so than for many, I think. The Host leadership, they seek out and extract the imperfections, the flaws."

Sam's stomach was churning. He took Castiel's hand and lowered them both to the ground. 

"I suppose I had more imperfections than most," he sighed. 

Shamed filled Sam all over, and he flinched and moaned with it. 

Castiel closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I don't know what has happened to bring back this stage for me, but it is the last thing I would ever want you to go through. My emotions are a tangle, my control...I'm just holding on to it. I'm hearing Michael's voice in my head, just like in the beginning, and I'm seeing him in Dean's face...I can't...It's like I'm back there. Back then. Between the thrill and glory, the warmth greeting a newly awakened celestial, and the hardened, cold discipline expected of warrior of the Lord...There is the Tempering."

Just the word made Sam tremble with anxiety. His mouth fell open, and he groaned. "Really?" he wheezed. "Puberty? That's what this is about?"

Castiel frowned severely. "It isn't like what humans experience-"

"No? Sounds a hell of a lot like it! Feels like it too, except it's like it's all compressed into a short span of time, heightened. Everything is at an exponential level, but it's the same crap. Feeling like I'm not clean, even though I am, wanting to jump you and wanting to push you away at the same time. Wanting an older brother's approval, and hating him for it. Keeping all your tension in your shoulders, except it's your wings, so that it gets painful to even move? Feeling guilty for every single thing you feel? And the extreme insecurity?"

"It's humiliating," Castiel ground out helplessly.

Sam groaned wearily. "Tell me about it."


	5. Run

Sam was running.

He was almost certain he was running.

Things were moving quickly around him, and he could feel the pull of his leg muscles. They were probably his leg muscles. They had a long, familiar stride, longer than the others'. And the angel rarely ran anywhere. And when he was Dean, he felt more of an ache than terror or determination? And those were the only circumstances under which his brother ran. So it must have been Sam who was running.

But was he the one choosing to run? Was something in him, compelling him to run? He didn't remember having a destination in mind. So was he running from something or towards something? He couldn't just be running, could he?

His stomach was a mixture of want and fear. It was a quiet fear. He had been here before. But it had been too long, far too long. It was painful how much he needed...What was it he needed? What was it he was reaching for? And why wasn't he just taking it? Why was he filled with this overwhelming compulsion to run?

Sam's lungs burned, gasping for a breath. He was just becoming worried that he was never going to be able to stop when arms wrapped around him and held him tight, pulling him to the ground.

This! Why was he running from this? His lover, giving him exactly what he had been aching for, the warmth and touch he had been starved of for so long! Why was he denying himself what he craved so badly? It was right there, and all he had to do was take it, let himself be loved for just a moment, and then he could go back to worrying about the Mark, and worrying about Sam, and the angel. He could just be touched for a moment, like he needed to be, and worry about why it wasn't right later. Just add the guilt and mistakes to the list.

Sam pushed his mouth down to cradle Castiel's lips, holding his face in both hands, even while his angel was trying to tell him something.

Even his Mark sang with the pleasure of pressing his fingertips into soft skin, bruising his way down arms, biting his way down a gorgeous throat. He might have been gentler before the Mark. He couldn't remember right now. He didn't care. He wasn't hurting anyone. He just needed this touch, and then he could worry about the rest of the world. He could worry about his little brother. After he gave in.

Hazel eyes snapped open. "Cas!"

The angel was pushing off his affections, trying to gently shake Sam back into himself. "Sam, please! I don't understand what...Please!"

He gulped in a cool breath, and grabbed hold of one of Castiel's wings. It was not the loving, tender touch he had always used before. This was a snatch at something alien to ground himself. The tight muscle and hard bone of the wing, and the pulsing of Castiel's Grace, startled his senses. "Angel!" he cried out in a desperate tone.

"Yes, Sam?" Blue eyes searched his with the same urgency as Sam felt. Castiel had flinched at the sharp clutching of his wing, but he did nothing to pull it from Sam's tight grasp.

"Dean isn't alone. Something's with him." Something. Not someone. This was definitely a something.

He felt the wing flex out, and immediately, they were back at the entrance to the cabin. Sam stumbled with disorientation, and Castiel glanced at him in concern, but blinked away again as Sam found his footing.

The hunter rushed for the door, reaching for a weapon he did not have, and he could already hear shouting inside before he even got the door open.

"Get off of me!" Dean screamed, and Sam was hit in the gut by a wave of anger and shame.

Castiel was physically peeling Dean away from the creature on the couch, who observed it all passively.

Sam stared at it. This was not what his brother was seeing. He could feel Dean's reaction to the thing. There was something entirely different in Dean's mind than what Sam and Castiel could see. For one thing, he had felt Dean reaching for lips to kiss.

This thing had no mouth.

On the other hand, he knew-knew!-that Dean was aware this was not a human. He wanted it anyway. He could feel the desperation seething from his brother, and he bent a little under its ferocity. The only force nearly so strong was the rising flood of shame that Sam couldn't withstand. He heard himself cry out, and at the sound, the shame overtook the want.

Dean ripped himself out of the angel's grasp, but did not approach the creature. Instead, he glared at it while diving to his knees to wrap his arm around his brother protectively.

Sam hadn't even realized he was on the floor.

"What the hell are you doing to him, you bitch?" Dean growled.

The thing looked at them. It was small in stature, with disproportionately large, strangely pleasant lavender eyes that stared. It had sprouts of white hair just a few inches long on its head, and its skin was an iridescent gray. It seemed female, though Sam could not have said why, since it didn't look like any woman he had ever seen.

Castiel's eyes narrowed in Sam's peripheral. He felt suspicion erupt from his angel. "Muse," he snarled.

Sam had seen an incredible quantity of weird in his life. From redcaps to leprechauns, Lucifer to Fate herself. But it was still quite an oddity to see something without a mouth clearly smirk at an angel.


	6. Touch

Dean couldn't help wanting touch.

It was everything to him, always had been. It was the last thing he could still truly remember about his mother. Even _Hey Jude_ was just a melody built on a faded memory. But the kisses on his forehead had seeped into his soul. He remembered how fragile Sam had felt back then, how light in his arms, even before he himself had any real strength. People said he was a good sized baby, whatever that meant, but Dean could remember being shocked by how small he felt. Even before the fire, he had felt a compulsion to guard the little whiny thing, and every night when John had come home, he had coaxed Dean out of the nursery. If he hadn't, Dean might have spent whole nights curled up beside the crib. That was his brother, and he felt small, and he wrapped little tiny fingers around Dean's fingers, and he needed his big brother. One day Sam would be big too, but until then, he had a big kid looking out for him.

Dean could still feel the kisses on his forehead, and there would never be a day when he couldn't feel those tiny fingers around his heart.

As he grew older, there was the pat. John still hugged Sam years later, but it was different with Dean. It was as though John had only enough energy left to hug one of them, and Dean wasn't a baby anymore. Dean didn't know if he had stopped reaching for it, or if John had stopped allowing it, but the affection between them manifested differently. It became a pat on Dean's cheek with a rough paw, with a small nod. He had lived for that show of approval, day in and out. When John came back from wherever he had been, whether it was working or drinking or researching, when Dean had shown him that he had kept Sam safe and gotten him to bed, there was a weary nod and a pat in it for him that made it all worth it. He had worn that kindness all night back then. Dean had caught himself doing the same to Sam several times over the years, had even done it to Ben and Castiel once or twice, as a show of pride in his boys. Bobby had done it a few times after John had died, and it had meant the world to Dean.

There were plenty of women who had given Dean comfort and pleasure over the years. He loved a pretty face, loved a gorgeous body. But it was the anticipation of the touch that made his blood boil. Some nights, he had simply lay next to Lisa with his fingers running up and down her arm, desperately grateful that he had the chance to feel her warmth and softness. He knew his own hands were as rough as John's had ever been. But Lisa and the others had never seemed to mind.

The touch was what he needed so badly in Purgatory. It was what had finally pushed him over into madness in Hell.

He couldn't help needing it.

Seeing the desperation mirrored in Sam's eyes was humiliating. If he had not heard the sound of pain coming from his little brother's lips, there would have been nothing that could have made Dean turn away from the promise of touch. It was too all-consuming. His practiced self-discipline and policy of self-denial had been ripped away, and it was all he knew.

The feelings were not coming from this creature. They were coming from Dean. They were simply amplified so that Dean could no longer ignore it, and it was somehow transferring itself to Sam.

It was humiliating, horrifying, to know that Sam knew. He didn't know what "discomfort" Sam was getting from his crazy angel, but the aching, flayed nerves, and the starvation he could see the younger man suffering...That was all Dean's.

"Don't do this," he croaked in a strangled sob. "Whatever you're doing, you gotta stop. He can't..."

The angel was glowering in rage. "You have willing playmates, Muse. What are you doing disrupting the lives of innocent humans?"

The lavender eyes blinked slowly, and a voice was projected onto them, inside their minds. "All my willing playmates go mad in time."

"As will these men!"

The eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't think so. These are the vessels of the archangels. Made of sturdier stuff. And you, angel. You're just the strangest creature, aren't you? I had to dig deep for your interesting emotions. The three of you work quite hard at keeping them from me."

Castiel stepped toward her, but stopped as Sam shrieked in pain. Blue horror turned on them. "Sam!" he cried.

"Don't you recognize his pain, angel? You should. It's yours. Shall we continue delving into your remembered emotions, angel, or will you keep your distance?"

Castiel flinched, and looked into Dean's stare. "The first-borns," he moaned. "Dean, I can hear them. Every male child, the first-borns. Father, forgive us, carrying out Your orders. It can't be what You want! We've got it wrong. Send to me the Revelation You truly meant us to know, and I can still stop this!" He let out a heartbroken cry that sounded only vaguely human. "Lamb's blood. It's lamb's blood. But pass over anyway. Pretend not to know. One less child to slaughter."

Dean watched in horror and fascination as Castiel dropped to his knees. He and Sam screamed as one animal.

"Father, You made me to love and protect these children, and not to kill them. Before Naomi comes, please, Father, send me the true command, for it cannot be this!" There came a babbling in another language now, not English, and not Enochian.

Then it was being repeated by Sam, and Dean's heart shredded as he realized what he was hearing was in an ancient Egyptian tongue. "I'm so sorry. Forgive me. I do the Lord's work. I'm so sorry. Father, forgive us if we're wrong. I'm so sorry." It was Castiel weeping apologies to the Egyptians who watched him slaughter their sons during the final plague.

Then Castiel was standing, and his hand was over Dean's head, the same sick heartache in his eyes and apology on his tongue.

Sam threw himself from his crouch and leapt in front of Dean. "No! Cas, no!"

"The first-borns, Sam," Castiel wept. "Leave none but those who hide behind the warning. Michael was clear. Pass over those who sacrificed the lamb, but leave none who did not hear or heed the warning. I'm so sorry, Sam. The warning was not for his family."

Dean took longer than he should have to understand and react to what was going on. All he saw was Castiel's hand reaching for him, and it occurred to him that if he were going to die, it could be worse than to die by the touch of a friend.

Dean did not see the abject horror on his brother's face as he leaned into the hand of an avenging angel. His eyes were closed.

"Castiel, stop!"

The angel whirled on Sam, removing his hand from Dean, who felt its absence keenly. "Morningstar," he spat, and he recoiled from his lover with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Dean looked around them. "She's gone!" he shouted. "Son of a bitch!"

Sam's expression was full of hurt as he stared at Castiel. "Morningstar?" He choked. "You...you see me as Lucifer?"

Castiel shook his head, and the blue eyes were beginning to clear. "Sam," he sighed. "Sam, forgive me. Dean, I'm-"

Sam's right hook blew the off-balanced angel to the floor.

Dean raised himself to his feet with difficulty. "Sam?"

"What the hell, Cas?" the younger man screamed. "After everything? I can feel you, you son of a bitch! Don't deny it!"

"What the crap is going on? We gotta find that bitch before-"

"Sam, please. It isn't as you see it! I'm so sorry. Please-"

Sam's fist slammed into him again, and though Dean knew it wasn't harming the grace-protected face, he could tell it was devastating the angel's heart.

"Sammy, give him a-"

"All this time?" his brother shrieked madly. "All this time? Since the moment you met me till right now? You see Lucifer when you look at me?"

"No! Sam, I-"

"I can feel you!"

Dean grabbed his brother before he could swing again. "It's the monster, Sam, not him! She's making him-"

"She's not making him do anything! This is him! She dug around in his head, and this is what's there!"

Dean shook Sam hard. "Sammy, stop! Look at him! He's got millennia of crap being yanked out of him. He's talking in freaking Egyptian, for God's sake!"

"What they did wasn't for God's sake," Sam snapped, throwing Dean off of him. "And he knew it. He felt how wrong it all was! But he did it anyway."

Castiel curled in on himself in shame. He stumbled to a chair, and was silent.

"He didn't have a choice, Sam."

"He's always had a choice, Dean. And he carried out twisted, diseased versions of orders given in revelation, things you wouldn't believe, because he put his duty before what he knew was right! Don't tell me he had no choice. He chose for us. He could have chosen for those children!"

Castiel's eyes closed. It was a small motion, but Dean saw the acceptance of eons of blame.

"And the last person who could still love him after everything he's done? The only one who still trusts him? Who thinks he's got a chance at redemption? The one who pieced him back together from his own soul when Malphas killed him? He sees Lucifer every time he looks at him, and always has. Every time he's freaking touched me, he's seen Lucifer." Sam's eyes were filled with tears when he finally turned them on Dean. "So you know who he sees when he looks at you. We're just vessels to him. And I wish the angels would just call us what we are to them! Like the black-eyed creeps do! We're meat suits. At least the demons are honest about it."

Dean watched Sam storm from the cabin, his bare chest heaving. His mouth was open, but there was nothing to be said.

Castiel stood quietly, and sighed. "I'll see that he doesn't get hurt. And I'll destroy the Muse when I can find her. An angel blade will do it, in case she returns while we're separated. Once we've...once we've dealt with her, and I know Sam is safe, I'll go. You should know, though...I was always far more proud of fighting at your side and serving your commands than Michael's."

"Cas!"

"For whatever it's worth, I preferred taking orders from a friend I admire, whose heart is true to what is right. When I've chosen to listen, you've never steered me wrong. You've never manipulated me. And you've never asked me to harm an innocent. It's been an honor, Dean. One I never deserved."

Dean caught his breath in his throat, but Castiel was gone, swept away by wings heavy with guilt.

All Dean felt now was alone. Somewhere in him, a demon with his own voice promised he wouldn't feel that way for much longer.


	7. Warded

Puppets were nearly as creepy as clowns. They didn't instill the same level of nauseating terror in Sam's stomach. But they creeped him out. Dolls were weird, but puppets were freaky. A theatre kid had once done a marionette show as part of his seriously strange final project in high school, and the puppets had been clowns, and Sam would never have admitted it, but he could remember actually closing his eyes and trying to tune out the entire performance, by practicing Latin in his head. Puppets were creepy, and no one could tell him otherwise.

Sam especially despised being one himself.

Gadreel. Meg. Crowley. How many times had he shared space inside his own skull? Or his veins, since there would always be a piece of Azazel in him. How many times had he been a puppet to some creature?

Even Chuck's books made him feel that way. Like he wasn't real. He understood how Dorothy had felt.

Then there were the times when he had been himself, but manipulated by forces of the supernatural. Zachariah. The freaking Wicked Witch of the damn West. Gary, the body-hopping nerd witch. The goddamn siren. That psychotic asylum doctor's ghost. His time spent without a soul. Every moment under Ruby's thumb. At the mercy of Magnus and Malphas. Unable to tell hallucination from reality, when that djinn had attacked him, then had gone after his brother at his home with Lisa, and when the damn banshee had twisted up his mind, and when he spent time in the grip of an imaginary Lucifer.

Lucifer. The one he was literally made for. The one whose barons had manipulated Sam's life since long before he was born. The one both Heaven and Hell worked against Sam for. The one every angel saw when they looked at him.

Lucifer. The Devil. The one Castiel saw every time their eyes met.

Sam could feel his angel's misery, and it devastated him. But he could not face him, knowing at last how he saw him.

He fell to his knees and vomited.

"Not real," he wheezed. He closed his eyes tight against it all. Maybe none of this was real. Maybe nothing had been real his whole life. Half the people who had ever meant anything to him were possessed by demons to keep eyes on him.

Dean was real. Usually. Dean hadn't had angels or demons in him. But he had become such a twisted version of himself when his eyes had gone black.

Castiel had once told him that in his time as a human, he had feared possession by both angels and demons. But he didn't know what it was like either. The closest thing he had was his experience with the Leviathans. It wasn't the same as what Sam had felt, over and over again.

There was no one alive who could possibly understand what Sam felt. There was no one alive who knew what it was to have an archangel fill every space inside him, to have such malicious and majestic Grace in him, eating him from the inside. No one could know...

He swallowed hard and frowned. His eyes opened slowly as something occurred to him which had never crossed his radar before.

"Crowley," he rasped out. "Crowley's meat suit. Could it possibly still be alive?"

"No."

The eyes closed again, and tears flew from them.

"Crowley's vessel has been dead a very long time. And thankfully so."

"I don't-I can't talk to you right now, Cas. If you ever want me to talk to you again, you need to back off. I can feel the Mark, and it's telling me the best thing right now would be to use my angel blade. I don't have as much practice fighting this thing off as Dean does. So leave me alone till I'm..."

In control. Had Sam ever been in control? Ever?

He took a stuttered breath, and then arms were around him, helping him up. The warmth that normally comforted him seemed feverish now, and he could hear as much as see Castiel's wings trembling at their tips.

"Please, Sam. Go back to Dean. If you will do that, and let him watch over you, I will leave you alone. I promise."

He looked up, then flinched away from the sad blue eyes. "I can't."

"Sam, that Muse is dangerous. She-"

"What the hell is she? I don't understand what she's doing!"

Castiel sighed. "She's extremely powerful. A long-estranged subsection of angelkind."

"Of course she is," Sam spat. "An angel digging into my head! Isn't that a surprise!" He pushed Castiel from him, and gripped both sides of his own head in frustration. "Get away from me, Cas. I'm not kidding!"

"And neither am I. You must go to your brother. Neither of you will be safe from her alone. Once the two of you are together and well-warded, I will seek and destroy the Muse. Then...then I will take my leave of you. I never want to bring you pain, Sam, and I'm clearly doing so. I will remove myself, and hopefully the effects of my Tempering and my guilt from ages ago will no longer cause you suffering. Hopefully...hopefully a physical separation will bring you the peace I always wished for you."

A swirl of confusing emotions attacked Sam then, and knocked him off balance. "I'll get back to the cabin and ward against angels," he growled. His arm throbbed furiously. "And I will kill any that come near me. I'm finished feeling this way. Come back within my reach, and I'll put my blade into your chest."

Anguish slammed into his heart, and he was not so far gone into the Mark that he didn't recognize the pain as belonging to them both. A small part of him screamed to be heard, but his anger shoved down the pleading voice that insisted he fix things before he lost his angel forever. The part of him that wanted to watch something die at his hands, the part that loathed everything Castiel represented, was dominant now.

"Yes," Castiel sighed hoarsely, as he led Sam back to the cabin. "I understand. Before we part, please listen. You may not hear me now, but maybe one day my words will mean something to you."

"Cas-"

He was nearly voiceless now, but he continued firmly. "Sam, I fought in the first civil war, against Lucifer. I fought in the next, against Raphael, who meant to undo what you had done to his brothers. I fought in the third, against Metatron, who meant to reign over all humanity. I have lost nearly everyone I have ever loved. If you can truly feel what I feel, then you know losing you, and therefore your brother, will shatter me in ways not a single other loss has approached, nor perhaps any of them combined."

Someone was trembling. It was impossible for Sam to tell which of them it was.

"I do not see Lucifer when I look at you, Sam." They had reached the cabin now, and Castiel touched Sam's cheek indulgently, blue gaze slipping down to look at Sam's lips with longing. "When I look at you, my love, I see the only creature in existence, the only creature who has ever existed, who has the strength and heart and will to overpower the two most dangerous angels of all time. If you sense that I think of the Morningstar when I see you, other than in a moment of severe confusion, it is only because my greatest sin has ever been pride, and I am proud to be...to have been at the side of the man who could prove too powerful for God's favored son to handle." He closed his eyes. "Please, my love. If you feel anything from me, please feel that."

The tips of Castiel's primary feathers were shaking very slightly, but the trembling Sam felt was in his own extremities. Tears streamed down until they covered even Castiel's hand. "Cas, I'm scared," he hissed. "You don't know...I'm losing myself again, and I don't know where I...I don't know what's me. It's like there are three other people in me: you, Dean and the Mark. And...and something else too. A fourth, but it's weaker, and it's nonsense, and I don't even know who it is, and I'm afraid it might be me. I'm scared. What if the Mark is the strongest of all of us? I will kill you, Cas, and Dean too, if the Mark will transfer to me. I can feel it trying to. It's frustrated with Dean, wants me to take it."

Strong arms and protective wings wrapped around him, and for that moment, all the sensations seemed to be muffled, even those of the Mark. He could still feel emotions from Dean, but it was muted compared to just moments before. "Nothing is stronger than you are, Sam. That's what I meant for you to hear. Not Michael, not Lucifer, and not the Mark of Cain."

"Your wings, angel. They block whatever the Muse is doing. Not completely, but..." He let out a shuddered breath of relief. "Enough to clear my head. Don't fly off, Cas. Come in and stay with us. We're better together. The three of us, we're always better together."

There was a twinge of desperate regret sent Sam's way. "Sam, I can't stay. The warding you'll need to keep out the Muse-"

"You're my angel warding, Cas. Don't leave me."

Sam could feel that there would never be a time when Castiel would resist that request.


	8. Lovely

Castiel could hear anything that moved in the small cabin. But that did not go far in convincing the hunters to get some sleep. 

"Uh uh," Dean said eloquently. "Not happening. That thing is still in my brother's head, Cas."

"Which is why it would be best if you slept. It will minimize the emotional current that is flowing from you."

"Explain again what's happening? Slow, like I'm four."

Castiel bit back his comment about that, and began again. "Celesma is a muse, Dean. A-"

"Cousins to the halos. Got that."

"More like nieces, I suppose, if you insist upon the inaccurate analogy. They belonged once to Raphael's entourage."

Sam cleared his throat. "Raphael is-was-the angel of things like art and literature and music and-"

"Melodrama?" Dean guessed. "Explains a lot."

"He created the muses to inspire and create," Sam continued, "but it sounds like they've kind of lost their minds now that Raphael is gone."

Castiel sneered. "They were always strange. They see humans as toys and warrior angels such as myself as..." His eyes narrowed in bitterness. "As lacking refinement," he finished. 

Dean snorted. "You uncouth bastard."

His feathers bristled under the joke, a flare of annoyance flushing him. He felt Sam staring at him, but pretended not to. 

Sam cleared his throat again. He seemed to be doing that a lot. "He's a little oversensitive right now, man. Dial it back."

"What?" Dean shrugged. 

Castiel sent Sam a look of frustration, but continued. "Humans pray to muses for inspiration. Some are perfectly kind in their distribution of it." Suddenly, Castiel was assaulted by a memory he had long forgotten. Fondness welled in him. "A particular one I recall, by the name of Mediocrità, she gave talent and inspiration only to the degree that the artist would find some small success, but not enough to drive them to madness over it. She was...remarkable in that way."

Sam's eyebrows were quirked strangely when Castiel looked up. 

"Sam?"

"You and a muse? Really?"

Dean cringed on the angel's behalf. "Ouch. Awkward."

Castiel sighed. "She was on a mission from Raphael, and Michael assigned me and Ezekiel to her protection...It doesn't matter."

"Ezekiel...One of the good ones Ezekiel?" Dean murmured. 

"The true Ezekiel, yes. He often accompanied Raphael's creatures into the world to protect them. For this particular mission, he thought it prudent to have a second. I received the order from my captain to join them temporarily."

"And you...joined them?" Dean pressed. 

Irritation spilled out into his voice now. "I did nothing inappropriate with that muse, nor with Ezekiel! I resent it being implied!"

Sam scowled. "Dude, I can feel you, remember? Not doing anything and not wanting to are completely different."

"She was attractive," Castiel said defensively. "And she...she was very...complimentary about my wings. But I haven't thought of her in a very long time." He frowned at them both. "And I will not defend my encounters-especially perfectly appropriate ones!-from ages before I knew you!"

At last, a smirk crossed Sam's face. He glanced at Dean. 

Dean was laughing, Castiel realized. "Me thinks he doth protest too much."

Castiel threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. How these hunters managed to joke through situations such as this was beyond him. 

"Least it wasn't a reaper," Sam pointed out. 

"Or a demon," Dean agreed. 

Castiel could feel heat filling his vessel. "Enough. She completed her mission, and I returned to my garrison. The fact is that some muses do not cause so much damage as others. Many humans are perfectly talented but require the drive to meet their inspiration, and when granted, that drive produces incredible things, but leaves the human drained of reality. There was a painter by the name of-"

"Vincent Van Gogh," Sam finished in horror. 

"Yes, that was it. Though I don't believe it was pronounced that way. If I remember, it was Celesma who answered his prayers for the ability to express his talent, and she destroyed him with it."

Sam flinched, and all humor was gone from the room. "He killed himself," he whispered. 

"Yes. He was a child when he first caught Celesma's attention. She dug into his soul and pushed out all the emotion and tore down any defenses he had, to allow him to access whatever it is artists need in order to create. The talent was already there. But a muse taps into it and brings it forth. Some do so gently. Others completely destroy the dam that holds reality in place. Angels are not meant to feel anything but devotion. Humans are meant to feel everything, but not all at once. Those walls exist for a reason. It is analogous to the wall Death erected for Sam. Losing it...is dangerous."

"Why would she do that?" Dean demanded. 

"She, and presumably the humans who seek her, see it as sacrifice for the art, or perhaps the human sees no other way to cope with what is inside him. I don't begin to understand. But the madness is a consequence of Celesma and muses like her. There are worse out there. I was recently told by Hannah that a muse by the name of Calliope has begun devouring her artists once they have completed their masterpieces. Apparently, she insists she has always done so, but research has revealed that she only began this practice once Raphael was..."

"Exploded by a crazy god?" Dean supplied helpfully. 

"...no longer a benefactor," Castiel finished wryly. 

"I suppose being devoured is worse than slowly spiraling into madness," Sam murmured doubtfully. 

Dean shook his head. "So what's the interest in us? I mean..." He tried to grin, though it was shaky. "I consider myself an artist in bed, but I hardly need much inspiration to get me there. She was laying some pretty heavy mojo on me. And what's with Sam? And you! Art isn't exactly what we do."

Castiel sighed. "Mediocrità told me that some muses believe that art is the artist himself, not that which he creates. She said that this is dangerous thinking, because it causes the muse to see the human as a canvas and not really a soul at all. She said some muses lose sight of their mission to simply help. Her opinion was that these muses don't truly mean to harm their subjects, but at some point, they forget about the soul and become obsessed with the art. With Raphael gone, this seems to have become...erratic."

"So...what? We're Esma's opus?" Sam demanded. 

Dean snorted. "More like a comedy of errors, dude."

Castiel frowned. "I'm not certain you two understand."

"So what's her deal? Why us? And what is it she's doing?"

"Perhaps our time under the influence of the banshee somehow got her attention," Castiel considered. "I don't know. But she is pulling very base, raw emotions from the two of you, and from me...She has somehow managed to corrupt my discipline enough to reach into my memories, from times of great stress for me. And for whatever reason, she is transferring it all to you, Sam. Everything is amplified and overwhelming." To his horror, Castiel felt tears slipping down his cheeks. "I...I cannot keep it from..." 

"Cas!" Sam cried out. 

Dean grabbed the angel's arm as he stumbled backward. "Cas! You still with us?"

He felt humiliated. "I cannot...Dean, I can't stop this. It comes in waves, and..." His voice dropped into a whisper. "They'll be so angry. I'm failing, and they'll be angry. Balthazar, you have to help me. Please!"

Sam closed his eyes. His words were pushed through clenched teeth. "Dean, you gotta stop him. It's an angel. If he keeps this up, it'll hear him. Dean, he's praying!" 

"She knows where to find us!" Dean argued. 

"But it's gone for now. Don't call its attention!"

Castiel put his hands to his ears. "Please. Don't shout. I can't...I don't like conflict!"

Sam was staring at him. "Cas?"

"Sam, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I've disappointed you. Don't make me leave, please. I'm so weary of being alone. I said I would leave, and I will, but please, please don't make me go. We aren't made to be alone. We are part of the Host, hearing one another's voices and thoughts at all times, but I've been cut off for so long...Please don't cut me off from your voices too. I know you're angry..."

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. "What is he-twelve?"

"Essentially," Sam ground out. "These are some of his earliest memories, Dean. It's yanking them out, and he doesn't have a way to filter it anymore."

"Balthazar, help me!"

It was then that a fourth figure appeared beside them, and Castiel gasped. He could hear the other two startle into defensive stances, but the figure simply smirked at them. 

"Balthazar," Dean cried out. "Just what we needed. More halos."

"Clearly," the smirk muttered. "Cassie? Would you mind explaining why you're crouched like that and trembling at the wings, praying for me, when there seems to be nothing wrong here other than a dreadfully rustic color scheme?"

Castiel burst into fresh tears. 

"Well, that's quite..." The scarred angel put his palms up and turned to the hunters for explanation. 

Sam was on the floor, cringing, so Dean spoke. "We have a muse problem."

Balthazar narrowed his eyes. "Get a cat."

"A-a muse! A muse problem, you damn-"

The eyes lit up then. "A muse! Which one?"

Dean stared at him. "Esma."

A smile spread across his face then. "What a lovely problem to have."


	9. Musing

"Lucifer created the muses," Balthazar sighed. "That is, he blessed their existence. But once he fell, Raphael took on the work. Imagine the angel of healing and death becoming the patron of the arts." He shuddered. "It might have been Gabriel, had anyone been able to find him. And Michael had no interest in such frivolous work. So it fell, pun appreciated but unintended, to Uncle Raphie. And what he didn't botch up himself went to Hell after Cassie snapped his Grace across the cosmos."

Castiel glared at him. "It isn't my fault!" he cried petulantly.

His brother gazed at him in mild amusement. "Tempering, hm?" he murmured to the larger hunter. "As if it weren't horrible enough once, Cassie has managed to begin it again. Poor bird."

"Don't call me that!"

Balthazar smiled at him fondly, and put his hand on his old friend's face. "You had such a nasty, awkward Tempering, little bird," he said softly. "Never would have wished it on you twice."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, even as they sparked in anger. "Stop calling me that."

One of the humans was looking impatient. Dean, Balthazar confirmed with a glance down at his wrist. The cord of David was still intact, thank Heaven. It was likely the only thing keeping Castiel's pets from succumbing to madness. Though Balthazar considered that no one would notice the difference if they did.

"You're here because you heard Cas calling for you. You say you know Esma. So are you helpful or not?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I am familiar enough with Celesma to stay out of her way when she is working. Which is clearly what she is doing here."

"But why us?"

"Because you're peculiar, all three of you!" he cried in sudden frustration. "You're lucky enough you didn't catch the attention of Calliope instead! I hear she's eating her playmates now!"

"Balthazar," Castiel groaned.

His heart ached at the noise. "Cas, why do you make that dreadful sound?"

"Brother, please. They'll be angry with me."

Recognition lit his eyes then, and he sighed. He dropped to his heels to cradle Castiel's head against his chest. "Oh, Cassie. Poor little bird. The bitch sent you that far back? It's no wonder I heard you." He lifted his head to frown at the humans. "A bit of privacy to preserve your friend's dignity would be kind!" he snapped.

The brothers looked startled, as if this had not crossed their minds. Apes. "Cas," one of them murmured, "we, um, we-"

"Sleep," the recently converted demon ape said quickly. "Cas was trying to get us to sleep before. If you're here, you can...keep an eye on him, and look out for the muse too, right?"

"It's been some time since I stood guard over humans," Balthazar sighed.

Green eyes glared at him. "I assume you remember how?"

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe unless Castiel changes his mind about how important you two are."

They glanced at one another, and frowned. "I guess that's...as good a promise as any."

The taller one approached Castiel before retreating. "Cas? Can you hear me?"

Balthazar's friend groaned. "Sam, I can't stop these memories."

"I know. I know. It's okay, okay? Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Sleep, Sam. Make Dean sleep. It will minimize the damage being done to you."

"I'm worried about what's being done to you, Angel," he said softly. "I feel how miserable you are."

"I made it through once. And Balthazar understands. Sleep, Sam, please. It's bad enough that you feel what I feel. I don't need you to see me this way. Balthazar and I can protect the two of you together. Go. Please."

The human nodded. "Please wake us if anything changes. Wake me if he needs me. He's right. The best thing is to try to cut off the connection. When I was unconscious before...it helped."

"When Esma returns, you will want to be rested," Balthazar agreed, and there was none of his usual snark in his words.

The man's brother stood at the door. "Sam," he called quietly. "Come on. This is an angel thing. Let Cas have time with his brother."

The head lifted, and the man nodded. It was hard for him to leave Castiel's side. Balthazar could tell. "You wake me if he needs me," he insisted.

"On my honor," he promised.

The hunter snorted his opinion of how honorable Balthazar was, then went into the bedroom. The other man met Balthazar's eyes. "Thank you. For...looking out for our friend." The door closed behind him.

Balthazar sighed once again, and sat on the floor beside his miserable brother. "Cassie. She doesn't know what she's digging into, does she?"

Tears were streaming down the little bird's cheeks.

"No," he answered himself. "No, she just knows there's a bundle of emotions there. She doesn't know what they're about. Funny thing about muses like her, Cas. She's got no real understanding of how humans operate, nor even angels. And whatever you are, my dear friend, you're not human nor an angel, not anymore. Whatever you are now, she can't help wanting to dig into it to see where all the interesting bits are. It's what they do, little bird. They don't really mean to harm you. They just want to know how you work."

"I've never known how I work," Castiel whined in exhaustion.

"And you're stranger than you've ever been."

Blue eyes closed.

Balthazar made himself comfortable on the floor, spreading his wings lazily. "Lie with me, little bird."

Castiel was curled, knees tucked into his chest, wings wrapped around himself loosely. He lay on Balthazar's wing, his head on his arm.

The closeness was something they had not shared since they had been Tempered, but it felt natural. It felt good.

"Little bird, you were the first thing I saw when I awoke, do you remember?"

"You...you were the first voice I heard. You laughed." It was a whisper, as if a long gone commander would hear them.

"We can laugh again, Castiel. Because of you. It turns out, we can be fierce and disciplined and devoted, and yet still occasionally laugh. I saw Yahoel do it not long ago."

Castiel looked up at him in surprise. "Joel laughed?"

"Joel laughed," he confirmed. "Cassie, when I left the garrison, I did whatever I wanted, because why not? The world was ending, and I had never had much chance to enjoy it. The only times I ever had any fun were with you, and it was always under the threat of being found out. We used to joke that Uriel was the funniest one in the garrison, remember? Because once in a while he smirked when he shouldn't have. And you were the first captain we ever had who didn't seem to mind."

"I wasn't known for keeping the strictest discipline," Castiel admitted.

Balthazar smiled to himself as he felt Castiel relaxing a bit. "You knew we were the most impressive garrison at Heaven's disposal. A joke here and there didn't negate that. Anna had tried to keep us in line. But once she was gone and it was you..."

"I tried."

Balthazar chuckled softly. "Yeah. But you didn't really mind, and we knew that. You were the most disciplined among us, because you had the most emotion to hide."

He could feel Castiel's whole vessel heating with shame.

"And some of us adored you for it."

The eyes lifted again to stare at him.

He huffed an uncomfortable laugh. "Cas, you were that little bird, that sweet thing, who became our captain, our leader and mentor. And I never forgot those wide blue eyes I saw upon your awakening. What you heard as your first sound was me delighting in your curiosity and brilliant Grace. To watch you Tempered, little bird, it hurt me even more than my own Tempering."

"Celesma doesn't understand what pain she is bringing to the surface."

"No," he confirmed. "She could never understand. She feels nothing herself, except curiosity and drive, so she couldn't know what it is like to have worked so hard to feel nothing, then to suddenly feel everything again, all at once."

"Thank you for being here, brother," Castiel whimpered.

"I come to your call, Captain. Even if you're back to being the poor little bird I awakened with."

Castiel said nothing for a very long time, and when Balthazar felt the sobs shake him, he simply held him tighter.


	10. Lost

Dean could feel his little brother trembling. "Come here, man."

"It's cold," Sam mumbled. 

"Come on." He tugged at Sam's arm gently, and lay him out on the bed. The enormous man curled in on himself immediately, tucking his knees into his chest, and lowering his face beneath his hair. It was pitiful. 

Sam watched him without moving as he gathered the worn out cabin blankets from the closet. He worked Sam's boots off, remembering how recently Castiel had done so for him. The man was still shirtless, so after he had coaxed him out of his jeans and into a pair of warm pajama pants from his bag, Sam seemed far more comfortable. The eyes never left him. 

Dean sighed. "Yeah, okay. Move over," he said in capitulation. 

Sam smiled in relief, and made room as well as he could. If it weren't an indication of how deep this monster was into his brother's brain, and how far back Castiel was thrown, it might have been cute to see this grown man grateful to snuggle his brother. 

It was awkward. Dean had forgotten to take his own jeans off, and had to get back up to relieve himself of his boots too. It had been two decades since he had Sam curled onto his shoulder like this, at least when he wasn't dying. 

Then, finally the awkward stage passed, and Dean sighed in satisfaction. "This is good," he teased quietly. "Right where I can watch over your ass. You're lucky I don't do this to you every night."

There was a tiny snort from inside his arm. 

"Sammy, you know you were hard on Cas."

The younger man-and how young was Sam really right now, Dean wondered-was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed. "It's hard to figure out...Those were his thoughts, Dean. How he feels about it all. That's why he didn't try to argue with me. But I can't seem to figure out whose feelings I'm getting at the moment, so I'm reacting, and...Dean, that Mark is so strong. I don't think I...I didn't realize how hard it's been for you. I'm glad you have that cord."

Tears sprang to his eyes. He was glad Sam couldn't see from that angle, and he pretended for a moment that he couldn't feel him either. "So am I," he whispered. 

They were quiet for some time then. 

Finally, Dean spoke again. "What are you getting from Cas?"

"He's so tired, Dean. But being with his brother helps. He doesn't know what he'd do without his brother. And it frightens him sometimes what he knows he'd do for him."

Green eyes closed, and tears slipped out. "I'm sure he'd be just fine on his own. He's strong and so smart."

"It doesn't matter. He's nothing without his brother. His brother's been there through everything."

Dean's voice was barely a breath now. "But his brother let him down," he rasped hoarsely. 

"It doesn't matter," Sam said again. "That's temporary. All the other things, they're permanent. They fought together and defended one another for so long. They're two halves of a whole. They can't live without one another."

"Even now that he's found someone he loves?"

"Especially now. His brother keeps him grounded. He's lost without him."

Dean nodded and swallowed hard. "Yeah. I know how that feels."

"I'm tired, Dean."

"I know you are, Sammy. Sleep, man. I got you."

"Don't leave. Don't fly away."

"Never."

He could feel his brother allowing sleep to take him, and when Dean felt his own muffled sobs begin, he simply held Sam tighter.


	11. Voice-Over

When Sam opened his eyes, he felt a disturbing level of disorientation. It was dark, but it was not the bunker. It was cold, but he felt feverish. There was Dean's snore beside him, not the sound of Castiel turning pages. His hand was under the pillow, but there was no gun in reach. He was nauseated, but so hungry that he felt hollow. Both his Mark and his wings were aching.

Very slowly, he sat up and stared until his vision accounted for the lack of light. He was shaking, and he did not know why.

"It is because he is dreaming beside you."

The lack of a useful weapon within reach was now far more problematic.

Sam scowled. He looked up to find a small figure perched atop a high bookshelf full of camping guides. It gazed down at him with those large lavender eyes.

"And don't bother trying to waking him. If you do, I'll simply dial up his emotional turmoil and incapacitate you both. He is too deep into his dream to hear you anyway."

"What the hell do you want from us?"

The thing tilted her head, much like Castiel sometimes did when he was analyzing. "Want? I don't want. I have no needs."

Sam frowned at it, and lifted himself to stand cautiously. "What does that mean? Everything needs something."

"I don't. The only thing I feel is boredom. Curiosity. I have been imbued with the ability to incite wild emotions among humans and other creatures, to inspire incredible talent. And you know, I cannot even take pride in my work. Is that not a flawed design?"

"It's...So you don't even appreciate art?"

The thing shrugged and hopped down from its perch silently. It disturbed Sam to be having a conversation with someone who had no mouth, while Dean slept uncomfortably in the same room. It watched him for a moment, then spoke again, inside his head. "Let's go elsewhere, then?"

Before he could respond, it had touched his arm, and they were standing by the lake. Sam stumbled dizzily.

"I do my job, human. Just as you do yours. I chose my path only insomuch as you chose yours. Someone had to do it, and it turns out that I excel at it. You and I are much the same."

This was even more disturbing.

"You're not the fourth in your mind."

Finally, he threw his hands up. "What the hell are you even...I don't understand what you're..."

"That fourth, weaker persona in your mind. You spoke of the angel Castiel and the Dean one, and that which you call the Mark. And you are not that fourth one."

"What is? You?"

It blinked. "Certainly not. It's part of the Dean one. A fragmented part."

"I don't understand."

There was a narrowing of the eyes now, and Sam got the impression that what he was staring at was becoming something else. "Perhaps we could communicate better in this way."

He knew that mouth.

Before the rest of her took shape, Sam knew the mouth that appeared. He had seen its smirk. Then came the rest of her, that strange friend-turned-enemy-turned-friend.

"Meg!"

She laughed. "Hello, Sam."


	12. Ever Marked

Sam stared at the aberration. "You're not Meg."

"Certainly not. But I've been inside that grapefruit of yours. I know all about your sad little thoughts and feelings. This is an easier way for you to communicate."

He fought down a shudder. "You are one creepy bitch."

"How's my unicorn, Sam?"

Hazel eyes narrowed sharply. "Don't do that. Don't go there."

She sighed. Her face began to morph again, and he stumbled backward with a flush of fear when he saw the form it was taking now. "Pay attention to me, Sam. I'm bored."

He put the heels of his palms against his eyes. "None of this is real."

When he heard Meg's voice again, he opened his eyes. "We can do this all day. Or you can focus on your fragmenting mind."

Fear took him again. There was nothing keeping these feelings from rushing to the surface. He bit into his tongue, then sighed. "Okay. So tell me. You said it's part of Dean. What did you mean by that?"

"I'm not pretending to understand why, but the man is splitting. There's a large chunk of him that is trying to protect him."

"From the Mark."

"From you."

Sam's frown was nearly painful in its intensity. "Me!"

She shrugged. "You cause him too many feelings. There was a time recently when he became a Knight of Hell, and he didn't have those concerns anymore. Part of him is trying to get that back. That part continues to fight against the demon welling up inside him. But it wants the freedom being a demon afforded him. I'm not sure why it battles the Mark so fiercely, especially when it has no hope of surviving it. The Mark will take him. No matter what he tries."

The words rang true. Even as they were slipping from the mouth of the demon known as Meg, who had lied a thousand times, it rang true in Sam's head. The Mark would still come for his brother. "What do I do?"

"What are you willing to do?" The eyes watched him curiously.

"Anything." It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Anything, just tell me what to do. You act like you know what could be done. So tell me. How do I help my brother?"

There was a beat of silence, and then the creature shrugged Meg's shoulders. "The transfer of emotions goes only one way."

He stared at her, and his eyes widened. "Are you..."

"You are a smart one, Sam Human. I know the Dean one is also smart. But you. You have a cruel imagination, don't you? I'm curious. Is that due to your time as the Morningstar's canister, or is it truly your own twisted mind?"

Sam watched her warily.

"You can imagine so many things. So many ways to keep that Mark busy. Smart and creative and brutal, that's you, Sam. Think you'd like to let Dean feed all its wicked desires to you and let you mete out its wrath? Worked for Lucifer."

He lunged at the creature, who flickered and reappeared directly behind him, this time in Dean's form. "What's the matter, Sammy? Brothers. Family. You didn't look for him while he was in Purgatory, so why should you help him now? Think that's been forgiven and forgotten? It hasn't. So what are you willing to do, Sam, to help your brother now? Happy to help, so long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable?"

"Stop this, Celesma."

The human and muse turned together to find two angels striding toward them, a human male just a pace behind them. It was Balthazar who had spoken.

Sam was trembling, but he was relieved to see his allies joining him.

"Stop what?" she asked, with Dean's voice. "Stop giving him ways he can help his loved one? It's too late for that, isn't it, Sammy?"

"Don't call him that." This was Dean's real growl. Sam could feel his irritation pouring from him.

But he could also feel the fear. Fear that had been building for a very long while. For the first time, Sam closed his eyes and stopped fighting against the flow of emotion from his brother, and instead focused his concentration on the river of information overwhelming him.

Dean gasped in surprise.

Sam stared past the angels, who were in heated discussion with the muse, and directly into his brother's green eyes, filled with pain.

"No," Dean whispered, and the voice reached him in spite of the distance between them. "Sammy, don't. You gotta stop, man." It was a desperate plea, and it came from deep inside the older man's mind. Sam wasn't certain he was speaking aloud at all anymore. "You gotta stop. Before you can't."

He shook his head slowly, and took a step toward his brother, his hero, his mentor, his first friend. "You suffer." He could not tell if he had spoken. But he could tell by the flinch that Dean had heard. "You suffer, and you're afraid. I can take that from you. I can do that. She's...she's given that to me. Dean, I can-"

"No!" It was a scream, and it startled the others.

Castiel reached for Dean. "What are you doing to him?"

The muse had morphed again, into an image stolen from a different mind, as Sam did not recognize it. She was female again, and she smiled strangely at him. "Oh, that's not me, Castiel. That's the Sam one. A smart human, isn't he? How curious!"

"Sam?"

Dean clutched at his head. "Get out of there, Sam!"

But his brother shook his head. "There's no reason for both of us to suffer, Dean. And it only goes one way. This was such a terrible thing that I didn't realize we could use it to help you."

Castiel was at his arm now. "Sam? What are you attempting?"

"Sammy, no!" Dean screamed in horror.

Balthazar made an odd noise of realization, and hummed disapproval. "Cassie," he murmured. "Your pets are playing with fire."

But Castiel had been through the ringer that day, and had less awareness of what was happening. "Sam? Sam, what are you doing? It's hurting you, I can see it, and Dean-"

The muse tilted her head in fascination. "How curious," she said again. "Quite a powerful will in this human, Castiel. He is capable of even more destructive imagination than I thought. How interesting."

Sam was pulling, not with his hands, but with his mind. It was not so different from the way he had used the demon blood, or how he had harnessed his anger to blow back the hartzeer banshee. It was a chaotic, delicate balance, a storm in a bottle, and his discipline and will was strong enough to make it work.

He was Sam Winchester. He had stolen the power from the demon of magic, and had leashed the Devil himself.

He could certainly steal the Mark of Cain from his brother.


	13. Transfer

The angel had given everything for these men. Everything. And he did not dispute what they had given him in return. But without them, he had nothing, was nothing. He was Castiel the Fallen, the angel who had awoken a little bit broken, and had never Tempered correctly, though he had tried with all his might. He was strong again, but what did it matter if he lost these men? They were everything to him. 

"Please."

The muse and his brother both turned to stare at him. 

He swallowed down his irrational fears, his panic, his anger and hurt. He looked into the lavender eyes that watched him. "Please. I'll do anything. Keep this from happening. He can't," he said, gesturing to Balthazar. "And I...You've got me so that I'm afraid to use my own strength. I might...hurt them. Please prevent this. Please."

She blinked at him curiously. "You know what he's trying to do."

Castiel's tears streamed down his cheeks, and he could feel his wings trembling so hard that he was unbalanced. "I know!" 

Sam's eyes were dark with purpose, and Dean fell to his knees with a hoarse scream. Sam's forearm was exposed, and beginning to redden as though it were being burned. Then he was screaming too, and Castiel turned pleading eyes to the muse. 

"Please!" he begged frantically. "Please, don't make me do it! I'm out of control; I could kill them both! You've no emotion, but surely you've got mercy! Or logic in the very least! You know what this Mark will do to a man who has been the vessel of Lucifer!"

Balthazar drew in a breath through his nose. "Celesma, he's right. If the boy is able to do this, to transfer the Mark of bloody Cain? I give it a week before he's let the Morningstar walk free! No one will be able to prevent it but Cain himself! Celesma!"

She watched the human brothers writhing against one another. Castiel did not know what Dean was doing, but he was somehow holding onto the Mark while Sam tried to tear it from him. The once and future Knight's strength against the effects of the muse, the elder refusing to give in and the younger refusing to give up, green eyes fighting hazel, both pairs far too dark for Castiel's taste. 

It was heartbreaking. 

A deep, dangerous voice crackled from Sam's throat. "Dean," he intoned forcefully, "let go."

With a wretched cry of defeat through bared teeth, Dean collapsed onto all fours, and Castiel could see that, at long last, his human-brother's arm was bare of the Mark. 

All was quiet. 

Four sets of eyes looked to Sam's arm. 

It was also bare. 

The fifth set of eyes, soft lavender and curious, gazed with detached interest at her own arm.

Balthazar made a short sound, like the wind had been knocked from him. "Celesma!" he cried. 

Castiel dropped to the ground beside Dean and lay on his hands before it even occurred to him that the effects he had suffered at the muse's whim were fading. His grace sent cool healing through Dean, repairing all but his broken heart. 

Dean's breath came fast. "Sam!" he cried. "Sam, what did you do?" The anguish in his voice was terrifying. 

But Sam was shaking his head. "Dean, I don't-It's not me! It's not in me! I don't..." Then he turned to the muse. "It's over!" he breathed. "I don't feel them anymore!"

She nodded absently. "Hm. I thought I would feel different." She looked up at Balthazar and seemed to shrug. "I thought I would feel."

Castiel looked at his brother, who moved toward her. His eyes narrowed. "Balthazar, have some caution!"

But as always, the other angel did as he pleased. He reached out and touched the muse gently on the forehead. Then he smiled. "Castiel, come confirm this, brother. As you so kindly reminded everyone, my strength is not what it once was. But I think..."

Castiel wanted to remain with Dean or to approach Sam, but something in his brother's voice was softer than he had ever heard it. He moved to lay two fingers on the muse warily. 

Dean breathed a jagged sigh. "Well?" he barked. 

The angels shared smiles. Castiel knew everyone but Dean could see the relief in his wings. "The Mark. Dean, it transferred to Celesma and has become inert. So long as she does not allow it to spread to anyone else, it will not be able to hurt anyone again."

Sam dropped down beside Dean. "You're certain?"

Castiel nodded. "This muse never underwent Tempering as other angel types did. She had no emotions to temper in the first place. There is nothing for the Mark to feed from."

"What if she dies?" Dean queried. Bright hope shone green in his stare. 

Balthazar shrugged. "She's angelkin. She won't die unless something kills her, and there's very little that can do that. All the same, I'll seek out Death and perhaps He can...prevent that if He chooses to do so. In any case..."

Dean's voice was stronger now. "I'm free."

Sam wrapped his arms around him. "Dean, it's gone!"

"The hell were you thinking, Sam?" Dean demanded gruffly. 

"I-I don't know exactly. All I knew was you were in pain and afraid, and there was something I could try to help you. There wasn't much thought to it at all. It was more like...instinct."

Dean's eyes rolled, and he stumbled to his feet, then helped his brother up. "I'll kick your ass later. For now..." 

All eyes turned to Celesma. 

"You released us," Sam said cautiously. 

She sighed. "I've become bored again. I wanted to know what it would be like to interact personally with my subjects. It is messier than working from afar as I generally do. There is too much yelling. You are interesting subjects, but I simply don't require any more study up close. It is tiring. Inspiring from a distance is more efficient."

Balthazar stepped forward again. "Cassie," he said slowly, "would you agree that it would be in everyone's best interest that the Mark not be let out of sight again?"

Castiel smiled at his brother, and put his hand on his arm. "I would agree with that. Celesma?"

She watched Balthazar curiously. "I suppose. It is prudent, though likely unnecessary."

Balthazar grinned at her, and took Celesma's arm in his. "Then I volunteer to become your companion, Esma. I'll go with you as you seek out your subjects to inspire and not to torment. Agreed?"

A spark of wonder lit her eyes. "You would be a companion to a muse? Always?"

Balthazar gave her a charming grin. "On the condition that you do not harm your subjects or me, yes. I think I'd like that. I'm hardly of use to Hannah as I am, but I'm exceptional company."

Dean snorted his derision. 

But the muse nodded. She seemed fascinated by the idea. "And you, you could talk with me about sensations and emotions and stories and motivations..."

"It would be my grand pleasure," Balthazar assured her. He glanced back. "You'll make my apologies to the Host, brother?"

Castiel looked at him carefully. "This is what you want?" he asked softly. 

The angel staring back at him let his smile fade into something a little sadder. "I don't belong at home any more than you, Castiel. Perhaps...perhaps you and I never did belong there. Some things...some things never quite temper properly, do they?"

Castiel took Balthazar's hand in both of his. "Be well, brother, and be careful. If you need me..."

"I'll pray." Then the charismatic grin was back, and he turned it on the muse. "Shall we, dear?"

Without another word, the two of them blinked from sight. 

"Be well, brother," Castiel murmured again. 

The brothers each appeared at his sides. "Cas? This all happened way too fast. Is this...I mean, could this work?"

Castiel turned to them. "Balthazar and I both felt the Mark retreat into dormancy. Should it somehow awaken, Balthazar will know and alert us and Heaven. But I sincerely believe it is inert while Celesma bears it."

Sam looked back at Dean. "Man, I'm so, so sorry."

But the older man shook his head. "No. I know you weren't all there. And because of you, it's gone." A slow expression of giddy relief played at Dean's lips. "It's gone, Sammy. It's out of me, gone! I-I'm never going to be that again!"

Sam grabbed him into a tight hug. "Jesus, Dean. Just..." Then they both began to laugh, and Castiel sighed happily. 

"This is going to take so much more than beer!" Dean announced as he broke Sam's embrace. "Come on! If you ain't in the car in three minutes, I'm leaving you behind. I've got to do some celebrating!"

But Sam locked eyes with Castiel, and shook his head. "Dean, you go on. Have fun. And if I find out you didn't get yourself laid, I'm not letting you back in the cabin."

Dean's contagious laughter could be heard echoing along the lake even after he had torn off to his car like a teenager. 

Sam chuckled at him. His lover could hear the weariness in his voice. 

"Sam? Do we...need to talk about the last two or three days?"

But the hunter turned to grab him in a passionate kiss, and all thought sparked out of him in an instant. Then Sam stepped back and put their foreheads together. "Probably," he admitted at last. "But right now, I'd rather make love to you and sleep on your chest with feathers all around me."

A shiver of delight purred through him, even as the Impala could be heard revving nearby. "I think that sounds wonderful, my love," he sighed. "I think that sounds...perfect."


	14. Inside the Hiding Space

If all of Heaven had burst and boomed with the declaration that Dean Winchester had been saved years ago, all of Hell crackled and hissed with the news that Dean Winchester had been saved the day the Mark disappeared from his arm. They said the King took the news rather well, and only four demons were destroyed in a fit of annoyance.

But Sam and Castiel were ignorant of that, as was the Righteous Man himself, who was gleefully chatting up a lovely woman at some bar outside Odessa.

His brothers were in the bedroom of a cabin by a lake, relearning how to interact with one another. Sam smiled at Castiel anxiously. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"You've said that four times, Sam," the angel sighed. "I'm fine, not counting my bruised dignity."

Sam put his hand on his cheek and leaned in for a kiss. "Same here."

A dark eyebrow lifted. "Sam, you were inside my heart during the worst moments of my life, during my most humiliating and shameful moments. How can you say you feel the same violation?"

The hunter hesitated. He ran his hands up and down Castiel's strong arms. "Cas, I know exactly how it feels, because it's happened to me countless times. I'm sick of getting screwed with. And...and I didn't do it on purpose, but I did to you exactly what's been done to me. I'm so sorry, Cas."

His angel nodded quietly. "Angels are not meant to have thoughts that the rest of the Host does not have the right to hear. At the time of the Tempering, one learns to stop having those thoughts, or to make them undetectable to others. Discipline keeps one's wings controlled at all times. Discipline keeps one's mind focused on surface thoughts only. To allow anything deeper is...regrettable."

Sam listened. They sat on the bed, stripped clean of clothing. It was more symbolic than sexual at the moment. Castiel had been exposed in a disturbing way. Sam intended to level the playing field insomuch as he could.

"My discipline was legendary among my brethren." He smiled shakily. "Most would have assumed that I was the best Tempered among them, until I fell in with two mischievous, poorly behaved archangel vessels. I was cold and unmovable, and I could be brutal when called on to be so. No other sort of angel would care who I was, but among Michael's Legion? I was something of a prodigy."

His hunter could not help the puff of pride he felt at that. "I don't doubt it," he promised.

Castiel gave him the ghost of a smile. "You know that Jimmy was my first true vessel. But there were lesser, temporary vessels, and I had other forms."

This piqued Sam's interest, and he leaned in to hold his lover. He lowered them both gently to the bed and lay the dark head against his chest. "The Chrysler Building one?"

He could feel the smirk. "A bit of an indulgent exaggeration. That is one of my forms, but not my true one any more than this is. That would be like saying you are the son of Mary Winchester and nothing else. That is a form I can take, but not one I often do. It isn't very practical."

Sam snickered. "So? What's your true form look like, angel?"

"Light," he sighed. "Similar to a human soul. Or when we fight, we look much like lightning looks from your perspective." He held Sam a bit tighter. "I imagine you've rarely been a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. It's...it's quite impossible to keep everything in you from being exposed at a glance. But I was not your average angel. I am Castiel. My strength is in my speed and my strategy. I was built for that. And you can only examine and expose what you can catch off-guard."

"You ran?"

There came a shrug. "I ran a bit, and I hid well, along frequencies others used very rarely. Other than among my own garrison, I formed no friendships. It was too dangerous. I loved my brethren. But the risk of being discovered as a fraud was too great. If doubt is murder one, every emotion is an accessory leading to it. And I knew in my heart I wasn't clean of emotion."

Strong arms closed tightly around him, and Sam kissed the angel's forehead. "I'm glad you're not."

He watched as the wings seemed to sigh out around them. "The moment I laid a hand on your brother in Hell, all pretense was lost. And so was I."

"Cas?"

"Yes, beloved."

"I like you in this form. I like every time I can see what you're feeling by how you move your wings. I love your wings. They're incredible."

Pleasure flushed warmth through Castiel's face. "They aren't, Sam. I've told you. They're utilitarian and plain."

"And I've told you. They're the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Esma couldn't appreciate art, but I can. And your wings are breathtaking."

His angel was smiling. "Sam," he said softly, "I fell for your brother. His simple morality and his stubborn defiance inspired and ruined me. I fell for Dean. But, Sam, I dove for you. Even before I ever dreamed my love could be reciprocated, my wings shivered every time we touched. You couldn't see it then, and I was so grateful you couldn't. You became more affectionate sometime after my time in Purgatory, more physical. You never touch anyone, Sam, except Dean. And my wings simply don't obey me when you allow for our hands to brush. Even now, it's too new for me to be accustomed to that raw pleasure."

Sam let his fingers dig gently into Castiel's back muscles, his thumbs stroking over smooth feather down, where wings slotted into the skin. Sure enough, Castiel's feathers began trembling around them. Sam smiled.

"When my brothers or another creature took hold of you, Sam...It's not the same for me. I've been exposed and I am ashamed of some of the things you've seen. But I'm not entirely sorry you've seen them. Perhaps my dignity is bruised, and there is some humiliation at being caught out of control. But I'm glad you know me at my worst. It means there is no pretense between us about what I am. Do you still love what I am, now that you've been inside it?"

Sam rolled their bodies gently until he was atop his angel, holding himself inches above him.

There was trust in those blue eyes, complete, devoted surrender. For perhaps the first time, even when Esma had peeled open the layers and dumped what she found into Sam, for the first time, in this moment, Castiel was revealed completely. All he was, his strength and hubris, his guilt and pride, his loneliness and compassion, his ancient childlike curiosity, his jaded naivety, his eternal discipline and his instant impatience, his too-much heart and his plain, utilitarian, stunning black wings...It was all for Sam now, wide open for him to see and judge.

"I love every bit of it," he promised, and spread his long body over Castiel's, determined to show him exactly how much.


	15. Fin

Sam's long arms held him above his lover with ease. He wanted to watch his angel's face as he pressed into him, as Castiel accepted him with his whole body. The way those blue eyes glazed when Sam pushed into him, the way every muscle in the strong angel below him melted into the bed, it made Sam lose his mind. Castiel sighed happily just as Sam sucked in his breath. The contact with his angel sent a wave of pleasure through him, and he was sliding into the tight warmth without any coherent thought. How it could still feel so impossibly good to make love to Castiel, he didn't understand. Every time he gained access to the angel's body, he found himself entirely at the mercy of his own pleasure. Other lovers had been different. They had been-

***

-just for one night, Dean reminded himself, as he pushed into the woman's thick moans. Just for one night, he refused to care about anything but the heat wafting from this beauty below him. Tomorrow, he would go back to saving the world from itself. Tonight, he was giving himself over to touch in a way he had not allowed himself in far too long. He had held himself back, had used an immense amount of self-discipline to hold the Mark down, to refuse it the horrors it craved. Tonight, he was holding nothing back. He had earned every moan, every cry, every-

***

-sigh of contentment. Sam shivered as he heard it.

Castiel laughed at him breathlessly. "You do that every time," he whispered into his hunter's throat. He had tossed Sam onto his back and was riding him effortlessly.

"Do what?" Sam moaned.

"You-"

***

"-feel so good," he groaned out through his teeth.

The woman giggled. "You say that to every girl," she accused playfully.

Dean's grip tightened. He glanced into her eyes for any sign of pain, but instead, she laughed again, and he licked his lips happily. His hand reached down to caress the soft roll of skin that formed over her belly when he twisted her like this, when she bent for him.

"Hey," she teased. "No fair playing with my fat just because you don't have any of your own."

He let his fingers dig into her side, snatching at the curves of her hips. "That's not fat," he sighed happily. "That's the best part."

She continued to laugh at him, with a bit of delight this time. "You like that?" she exclaimed.

Dean growled and shoved himself deeper, watched her eyes roll back and her mouth fall open. "I love that," he ground out in a savage-

***

-breath that hitched in his throat. He lowered his chin to watch himself entering the angel, to see Castiel's body swallow him deep every time he dropped his weight onto Sam. He shouldn't have looked.

"Cas, I can't..."

But Castiel smiled with blurred eyes and hungry lips that claimed Sam's. "Beloved," he murmured through kisses, "say my name as you do. Please call me by name."

***

"Dean!" she screamed into his shoulder, and he felt her wrap her legs around his waist, lifting to allow him even deeper.

He chased the sensation surging through him, thrilled with the knowledge that this rush was for him, only him, no Mark to share and taint, just for him. He dipped his chin and looked into her eyes, grinned at her with a feral shine in his green gaze. "You ready for me?"

She nodded quickly, and let out an obscene, thick cry. "Fill me," she screamed.

***

The roar from Sam's chest was met with a deep, rumbling sigh from the angel. "Castiel!" he barked out, and with the syllables, he poured himself into his lover. The last thing he saw as his vision smeared was the abrupt spread of feathers as Castiel shot his wings out to their capacity. The motion thrust him hard onto Sam, driving him deeper-

***

-into her until his eyes screwed tight with the effort. When his release came, it seemed to drain his entire being, and all of it was him! Him, not that other thing, not that parasite, not the black-eyed bastard that had crawled in his flesh for months. It was all him, emptying the stress and heartache and fear into a woman who thought of it as pleasure. It was all him, hollowing out so he could begin again. It was-

***

"-all you, Cas, always. My whole heart. It's all you."

Castiel stared down at him and a blue flash pulsed in his eyes. "I love you, Sam. It isn't enough to say I love you. There has to be something else I can-"

***

"-say, except thank you." He lay back on his arms and sighed happily. "I needed that," he chuckled sheepishly. "You don't even know."

She lifted herself to grin down at him. "Think you could need it again before I go?"

Dean laughed. Then he lifted his fingers to trail along her soft arms. "You won't believe me if I say this. But I really...I really just want to touch you right now. It's been a long time." He smiled. "Let me just touch you, and I'm betting you'll be glad you did." His smile slipped into a wicked grin. "I'm good with my hands and my tongue. You up for that?"

The woman practically purred at him as he reached up to kiss her lips.

***

Castiel's kiss was tender, sweet. There was no urgency to it. Just soft lips on soft lips, moving ever so slightly, making promises and fulfilling them all without words.

Sam's large hands stroked over the wings where they settled into his lover's back. Castiel was practically purring into his hunter's mouth with every slide of Sam's hand. "I love you, Castiel." The word tingled in his spine, the fading effects of Enochian magic crackling around them spurred by the whispered name.

The angel hummed happily, unwilling to give up Sam's lips long enough to speak.

"Do you need anything? You didn't-"

"I did," he corrected softly. "Relax, Sam. I'm content."

He continued brushing along the base of Castiel's wings. The angel finally heaved a sigh and settled his cheek against Sam's strong chest. "This is the best part."

"You like this?" Castiel murmured.

"I love this. I just want to touch you forever. Let the world save itself for a while. I'm by a lake with my angel, and my brother is free of the Mark, and I'm not siphoning emotions off the people I love. Let's call this a win and just stay in bed."

"Last time we tried that, you were infected with a bunker fever. If we do that here, I suspect a cabin fever may attack."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Well, I visited Jody two or three weeks ago, and got attacked in a restaurant. We took two steps out of the bunker a week ago, and got caged by a djinn reaper and his banshee pet. We drove a few miles and got laid out by a muse. Doesn't seem to matter where we are, man. Shit finds us. We might as well be well-rested and well-loved while we wait for the next storm."

***

Calloused hands caressed the steering wheel of a 1967 Chevy that had been his lover for his whole life. He smiled. "Baby, we're free. Lost the black eyes. Lost the scar. Lost the madness. Feels good to be me again. Did you miss me, Baby?"

He didn't know if what had occurred was truly a solution to the problem. But Castiel seemed to think this particular muse was resistant to the effects of the Mark, and Balthazar seemed more than pleased to keep an eye on the creature. Sam was going to be fine. He and his angel were adhering to the buddy system back at the cabin. And his Baby was happy to have him-the real him-back.

Dean was going to call this a win. He lay back in the front seat, still tingling from the touch of a woman who didn't care to know his phone number-and bless the one-night wonders-whose name he could probably remember if he really tried.

But he didn't.

"G'night, Girl," he whispered to his one true love. "Tomorrow we got work to do. But tonight...Let's just rest tonight."

The Impala kept him warm and safe all that night, while his brother slept under the dark wings of an angel.


End file.
